Mafia School Dropout
by D-Dum
Summary: Nono assigned Reborn his mission with the express desire to see Tsunayoshi Sawada come out boss material. The baby hitman has done his research, talked to all the right spies, and concluded he's going to need a little more "oomph" on this job than expected. Enter Arabella Kan, jack of all trades and master of none mafia school dropout. Well, she would be, if they'd let her.
1. Chapter 1: The Girl from Cosorini

**A/N**

**I don't own KHR, just the OC and plot. Please review and enjoy!**

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_***BOOOM!***_

"OH MY GOD IT EXPLODED! RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIIIVEEEEESSS!"

"…."

"SAVE OUR SOULS, IT'S THE END OF THE WOOOORRLLLLDD!"

Another explosion sounded, followed by a high pitch scream of metal bending and twisting before a distinct "thunk!" to the ground.

"….Bella…._che hai fatto_." (1)

"…Cesa-I uh, added the nitroglycerin…like you asked...in the recipe…thingy…"

"No. There was _no_ nitroglycerin in the recipe. No. _Sei il simbolo dell'idiozia! Sciocco! Idiota!" (2)_

"Mi dispiace…" (3)

"_**Alcune cose sono così dire 'scusa' non basta! Torna qui stronza!**_" (4)

"eheh…no?"

"…"

"AI! Va bene, va bene, _scusa, scusa, scusa, non uccidermi!" (5)_

* * *

And that was how, three months into my internship in the weapons division, I lost my job. Picture a skinny, black-haired, 16-year-old girl who's been eating junk and avoiding exercise ever since she was entered into the mafia academy. European Korean mix with pale skin from staying indoors and thick glasses because, haha, je suis un nerd. Now imagine this short, friendly looking individual sitting on the curb outside a massive limestone building modeled after a Greek temple. She has exactly zero luggage, smoke still coming off singed and burned hair, and a factory smock over a military style uniform. That, dear reader, would be me.

"Well, there goes another potential future," I muttered, blowing an ashy strand of hair away from my nose.

Leaning back on the sidewalk and ignoring the filth that it no doubt was covered with, I stared up at the sky. I'd been living in this little old town in middle-of-nowhere Italy since my last internship went kablooey. That's how mafia school works, you go through lower education learning stupid stuff a normal person doesn't need, then in high school they toss you out to take jobs in the "real world" and "learn by experience."

I experienced a severe reluctance to pull the trigger on my first hit, and so the assassination route was nixed from my resume. Such a shame, I scored highest in the class for marksmanship and rationality.

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Then, since it was _such_ a disappointment to the school and the principal thought I could be "fixed," I was sent off to training camp in mother-fucking **_Siberia_** for five and a half months and given a crash course in "do what you're told, follow the rules." They got rid of me when a slot opened up in a femme fatale program in mainland China. Honestly, that job wasn't so bad since I got to take language courses for a few months before I started hits.

Buuuut, well, there's a huge ick factor involved in being a femme fatale, and you're not allowed to physically assault the target if they try anything funny. You're supposed to encourage that sort of hanky panky, funny business. I did better than at the first internship, I held out until about the twelfth job, but I have an anaphylactic response to pedophiles, and I sort of broke my target's face. And hands. And, well, _lower area_.

'Twas worth it, "je ne regrette rien!" as Edith Piaf would say.

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Apparently the school figured I shouldn't be allowed out in the field for a while and that I must, I quote, "learn to appreciate the opportunities for action this institution affords you with." Hah, joke's on them: the weapons division is fricken _amazing._

The place looks like a cross between the warehouse from Indiana Jones and a sci-fi _heaven_ of a research lab. You could live indoors for months and never have a moment of regret or boredom. I know this because it's exactly what I did.

See, I honestly loved this internship, and I did _not_ try to get myself tossed to the curb (no pun intended) but my brain isn't really wired for mathematics and precise numbers. I'm a bit more guessworky than is allowed in the lab, and this time I screwed up too much for Cesarino to tolerate. The guy is an honest to goodness genius, but he has issues.

I made those issues worse, it's true, but it's not like they weren't there before I showed up. The other internees ought to have thanked me for drawing all his crankiness my way and making them look so good.

Anyway, long story short, I blew up a mixture that was supposed to go in a prototype bomb by accidentally tipping nitroglycerin in and starting a reaction, which just so happened to destroy some robot that Cesarino's been obsessed with. Was what I did all that bad? Eh, so-so. It was forgivable. Blowing up that robot though? Not so much.

Bertoldo shouldn't have left the damn thing out anyways.

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* * *

"It's not so bad, at least it's nice out, blue skies and all. Maybe now the old man can finally lose all hope and die in despair: name another heir and scoot the family along. Ah! Breathe the fresh air! Let go of the shame!"

Breathing deeply, I managed to time things just right to choke on the exhaust of a passing truck. Eyes and nose burning, I rolled over on the pavement wheezing and coughing hard enough to hack up a lung.

"Merde! Ah! *cough, cough* I'm dying!"

"You're not dying. Get up."

At first I thought the voice had come from inside my (slightly asphyxiated)head, but the shiny shoes in my peripherals disagreed with that conclusion.

"Eh? *cough, cough*" Spitting into the road and wiping at my nose frantically, I refocused on the mysterious newcomer that had addressed me.

For a moment I thought my mind was tricking me, a long shadow of a formidable man cutting across the ground. Blinking and readjusting my glasses, I instead saw a toddler in a suit and fedora. I blinked rapidly.

_Okay. One of three things is happening here. __One, I misheard and the baby is with someone who said I am not, in fact, dying (which is debatable, we are all in the process of dying- focus!). __There's no one else around except for that nonna selling apples._

_Two, I'm hallucinating as an after effect of the explosion fumes. Very possible, but there should be other side effects physically, and I feel nothing._

_Three, the kid really said that and has crawled out of mafia land to come kick my ass. That…is very probable. Stranger things have happened…and the principal is an asshole and a half._

Remembering Siberia and all it's winter glory, I went with option three. Trust me, it's better to look like a lunatic than piss off a mafia messenger. They all answer to someone, and you never know who that someone is.

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"Er. Hi. And you are?"

It, he, whatever, smirked and tipped his (it's?) hat condescendingly.

"Caiossu. I'm the hitman Reborn. I'm here to bring you to your next job."

My face froze.

_Fucking, shit, NO. We, the royal we, are not landing ourselves back in assassination class. Shooting fathers in the head when they just get home to their wife and baby is not an acceptable profession. NO._

Reborn must've seen something in my face, a stubbornness that came through enough to make his smirk widen. Sitting up straighter and adopting the poker face and cold voice I used for business, I said evenly,

"Interesting. I don't recall being given a reassignment. In fact, as far as I'm aware, I'm due for a meeting at the academy tomorrow to discuss my current situation. I'll have to decline your…offer."

"That's not a choice you get to make."

"Oh?" My eyes went dead, and I let a little killing intent roll off me as I studied the kid. He gave off the aura of an experienced hitman, an adult, and I'd already learned that it's safer to trust your gut and not your eyes.

Pulling his hat further down to shadow his pudgy face, a green lizard-gecko thing morphed into a gun. I stared.

_Okay. That just happened._

_IT WAS A LIZARD, A L-I-Z-A-R-D, AND NOW IT'S A GUN. FREAKIN WHAAAAA?!_

_And now he has a gun, and you have….nothing. Great. I love where this is going. God, when I die, can you please take me to heaven and keep out the loony mafia men? Please?_

_I've been good…_

_Decent..._

_..._

_You know you love me._

Keeping a balance between cool headedness (ha ha, please) and bodily tension, I shifted to anticipate his next move. We studied each other for a moment, I don't know how long, but after several minutes he lowered the gun and I relaxed my shoulders, eyes still watching him like a hawk.

"Good. You'll do. Get up, we're going to clean you up and outfit you for school."

Turning, the baby walked away without a second glance, just oozing smugness and authority. Bastard.

"Excuse me? Um, I have my uniform on under this, and also, can you please back up and give me some details? Do you have a dossier or something I can look at? Maybe a seal of authorization so I know who the heck is calling the shots?" He gave me a dry look as I stumbled after him.

"Use your brain Bella, I'm calling the shots. Take off that smock, you look hideous."

Pointedly ignoring that comment, I snorted.

"Yeah, right. You're just a hitman, you don't call the shots, doesn't matter how good you are. Who's your boss and what are the details? Quit being cryptic and show some professionalism damnit!"

The kid smirked again, wider this time like he was pleased with something, and before I knew it I was flat on my back with a yelp, a green cane wrapped around one ankle. Standing over my head, Reborn nodded in approval, eyes calculating.

"I can see why Mancini was so adamant about your potential, and your evident flaws. Here's the dossier, read it while we walk and keep your mouth shut. The next time you talk to me like that I'll do more then flip you on your back."

With a chilling look in his eyes, the baby let me up and handed me a sleek, black leather folder stamped with a very familiar seal.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," I whispered, eyes wide as my pulse skyrocketted.

_This is a joke._

"It is not a joke. Read it."

Jerking my head up to retort, I paused. _He reads minds. FUCK. _The fedora baby looked, daring me to come out and say what I was thinking, like he really hoped I'd slip up, and so I clamped my mouth shut and brushed myself off. I ain't walking into a trap like that.

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* * *

Flipping through the five sheets of paper enclosed within, I couldn't help muttering to myself.

"This is unbelievable. What even _is_ this job? And, why? Why me? What cou- the hell!?"

There, on the last page was a personal letter written to me and signed _with a sky flame._ I turned the paper around in my hands, twisting it this way and that, watching bewildered as the little drop of amber fire sputtered and flicked about in response. The baby was watching and I quickly dropped the sheet, clearing my throat a little.

I think my embarrassing reaction can be forgiven when you consider that I've literally only ever read about that sort of thing in textbooks. I can count on one hand the boss's who have the flame type and the caliber to actually pull off such a signature, and on the other I can tell you how many people I know who've ever seen one up close. Nobody teaches signatures like that, only old families, deep families still have the knowledge and keep the practice.

My point is, a real, bonifide, important boss wrote a letter _to me_ and _signed it. _Nobody signs letters anymore, nobody even writes letters anymore! They just type, copy, computer stamp it and hit print! It's a big deal, and it's weird. Strange, not good, foreboding: bring out your SAT words people, because I have a lot of feelings roiling around and none of them are pleasant.

A signature like that is mark of significance, of an issue of importance. It's the sort of thing you see when a boss invokes Omerta, and I as I skimmed the letter I wanted to laugh because, haha, go figure, he was. 'Cause you know, I can't be trusted to keep my yap shut about the sort of job that would put a bigger target on me than I already have. Right.

My eyeballs will now proceed to fall out of my head from rolling them.

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_Dear Miss Kan,_

_It is with great confidence and expectation that I confer the title of bodyguard to you. Under the observation and leadership of Reborn, you are to guard and guide the future heir to the position of Vongola X, my grandson Tsunayoshi Sawada. This position necessitates total secrecy and discretion of the highest level, therefore, should you choose to accept the position, I shall evoke the code of Omerta and with it total compliance with the measures set in place by Reborn. All materials and equipment will be provided for through the family, and you will receive pay in an amount of $20,000 monthly to your bank account #xxxxxxxxxxxxx. Please read through the enclosed information and consider it carefully. We'll be in touch._

_09/20/xxxx_

_Timoteo Vongola, Ninth_

The flame flickered and waved underneath.

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* * *

It's stupid, but all I could think to say looking at the letter, the insignia, and the flame signature was:

"Well, that's redundant."

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* * *

**Translations:**

Italian

1) What did you do?

2) You are the epitome of idiocy! Fool! Idiot!

3) Sorry

4) Some things are so bad saying sorry isn't enough! Get back here you bitch!

5) Ouch! All right, all right, sorry, sorry, sorry, don't kill me!

French:

Je ne regrette rien = I regret nothing

Merde = shit

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**Set to update: 03/01/2020**


	2. Chapter 2: Up in the Air

**A/N**

**Hello all! Commence chapter 2, and please review!**

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"Stop picking at it."

"Ugh, fine."

I scrubbed at the hole in the seat I'd ripped open, stuffing starting to show.

A squirt of water hit my face.

"Merde! I mean, um, gavno-er, shnitzel?"

"Do _not_ replace one swear word with another. Speaking in Russian doesn't cancel it out, replacing it with gibberish doesn't cover it up. Enough with the foul language, you've got a job to do."

"глупое отродье, отвали." (1)

The nozzle of a silencer suddenly gleamed between my eyes. Reborn was as cool as a popsicle, flicking a piece of lint off his suit.

"не смей так со мной разговаривать." (2)

I shivered and nodded quickly, slumping down to hang off my seat when Reborn took Leon away from my face, the lizard morphing back into its animal shape. First class seats on a jet used solely by the Vongola afforded a good deal of comfort and privacy, but I'd been on this dang plane for eight of the almost twelve hour flight, and I was ready to lose it.

I've done long plane rides before, this isn't even the longest one I've been on, but I've never, _never_ had to share the plane with a guy like Reborn. Three words rotated in my head: putain de merde. (3)

Please pardon my French.

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* * *

The baby is adamant that I break my cursing habit, which I honestly didn't think was that bad. I had arms class with eight year-old's that outdid the guys on the street, so forgive me if I was shocked to hear I'm not a bar of Irish soap.

But no, the cursing has to stop and I understand. My Gramps used to say a dirty mouth showed a dirty heart, and there _is_ something posh about a clean vocabulary. Mostly I think it'd be nice to kick the habit since Reborn curses, and he's a hitman. I don't want to be a hitman, or Reborn, so the cursing has to go! He's got a surprisingly foul mouth for such a small body.

Just the other day, as revenge for tossing out my _entire wardrobe_ and replacing it, I burned the coffee beans I found in his luggage at exactly 5:20 am, ten minutes before the shitty baby came back from his morning exercises. You would've thought the country was going up in flames and a sailor had been grounded the way he was going on.

The next 24 hours are a bit blurry and broken up, but at least the baby respects me now! Somewhat.

Back to cursing.

In my normal day-to-day vernacular, I'd say I'm alright (and Reborn agrees), but when I get irritated or freaked out, well, all bets are off. And since I slip up the most when I'm frustrated or caught off guard, guess what Rebo-dearest has been doing for the past two weeks and eight hours? Enacting his revenge.

Today he woke me up with an ice bath, unpacked my suitcase 10 minutes before we had to leave the hotel, stole my passport and left it in a ditch on the side of the road. That was before we got to the airport.

He got my computer confiscated at security by saying it was a bomb along with my Level 2 Japanese textbook and original copy of The Brother's Karamazov (I _will_ kill him). Then, when I thought it couldn't get worse, he threw my phone out the door of the plane _right as the stewardess sealed it_.

The demon child has been spraying me with a water gun like he's Ivan Pavlov and he's going to die before we land_. _If he (I) survive this hell, I'm going to make him hate the thing he loves most: coffee.

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* * *

Flicking open the window shade, I watched the clouds hang in the sky, flat bottoms and poofy tops spread out as far as the eye can see. It's sort of peaceful, when you ignore the fact that you're flying hundreds of miles an hour, thousands of feet above the surface of the earth, in a metal tube. Cheerful thoughts.

Reborn and I are heading to Tokyo to establish a secure connection with our (his) contacts there and to ensure my "seamless integration" into Namimori Middle.

We've decided to pass me off as 14 and keep me in as many of Tsunayoshi's classes as we can without being suspicious. The fact that my 17th birthday is closing in is not an issue: I take after my paternal grandmother, short and round faced. So far we've agreed that I'll lurk around in the shadows rather than making myself known, since rule number three in the mafia handbook says "hidden enemies are more dangerous than the those in the open."

Apparently Reborn helped write that handbook, so I've decided to skeptically agree. Like, taking everything in it with a pound of salt, I'll agree. He's an ass, you'd understand if you met him.

It's unfortunate that we'll be arriving a month after school starts, but it can't be helped. No one asked for Nono's sons to die, there certainly wasn't a schedule for tragedy.

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My expression darkened at the thought of Nono's sons.

I didn't know them, not personally, but everyone knew who they were in the underworld, and it cast waves like a tsunami when they all ended up dead. Cesarino's brother held a mass for each one of them, and his wife Julianna wore black for the rest of the month. She was still wearing a black veil when we left Italy.

Federico's story was the most chilling of the three brothers. They still don't know exactly who or what got him, too little left of the body to say anything beyond the word "acid." The others left more evidence behind, but there are no comforting answers. I've heard all the rumors floating around about infighting, but those are from crass people who don't understand Nono or his kids: they genuinely loved each other, all of them.

I'm not saying I get how the Vongola operates, but Cesarino knew and believed in them, and he was the epitome of the word "family." It's strange now, having heard about the situation and mourned the Vongola's losses, now that I'm caught up right in the thick of it.

I shuddered. Knowing all that happened, how were we supposed to go and take this kid, a 14 year-old civi, and tell him to be the next in line? I mean, it's crazy! If you look at what happened to the previous candidates, the position looks cursed!

No sane person wants to inherit a power that requires the death of the predecessor and **expects** that death to be bloody and violent. This is not Harry Potter or the British royalty, you get no perks for becoming the next in line, just bloodshed and a lot of paper work. Japan is supposed to be pretty pacifistic, barring the Yakuza: if we drop this into the lap of a teenager it will 100% throw him out of wack.

_Glad that's not in my job description…I think._

I glanced at Reborn.

The baby hasn't given me any clues, hasn't shared his plans for teaching the kid, and that's fine with me. I don't really enjoy the way our conversations go, but they have given me a sense of his style: spartan torture. He's not the first mafia teach I've gotten that runs with that stance, but I honestly feel sorry for the boy. Growing up with a mafia background gives you a certain acceptance of the strange and ridiculous, and all my classmates and colleagues have an innate adaptability to physically punishing tasks.

Tsunayoshi doesn't have that.

Really, looking at his profile, I'm not even sure he's hit puberty based off his height and weight, and his school stats show very low academic and physical performance. It's concerning, Reborn's gonna hit him like a hurricane. Aside from crap test scores he has wonderfully bad luck inheriting Vongola blood stemming from the main line, but I guess that's not his fault. I blame his ridiculous father.

I can't help but wonder what Reborn thinks of all this, and I'd love to turn his mind reading powers against him (I seriously need to figure out how he pulls that trick, it's infuriating). It's been only two-ish weeks since our first meeting, but I can tell the baby is an expert at whipping out hitmen and he fully expects to break Tsunayoshi into his mold. Apparently Doofus Dino is his former student, and considering the turn around in the Cavallone famiglia, he's did an impressive job.

According to my personal sources, Dino was going to be held back again or expelled if he failed another year at the academy, but these sort of things are buried once a boss gets big. I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm being taken on as a sort of halfway charity case based on a phone call I may have snooped on, but I have no proof.

Stupid baby caught me before I could hear what the principal wanted, so the only thing I can say for certain is the king of assholes needs to give me up.

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I took a long sip of pineapple juice and squinted out the window at the sun. Manicini is not worth the anger, but he's unfortunately latched himself onto my life and has no intention of letting go. I do not yet have a way of exterminating the pest, but I'll find one.

I pulled on air, and hailing the pretty young stewardess, I asked sweetly,

"Another juice please? I try the mango this time."

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* * *

Mango is delightful! I've found a new favorite drink to spend Reborn's money on, and in doing so, I've also acquired the strength to bear with the crap I'm _still_ mulling over.

This is why I don't have friends, I brood like a sparkly teenage vampire.(4)

That old man is his own box of nightmares: the headmaster has his fingers in a lot of pies, and if the rumors are true, he's related to one of Nono's guardians. I pity the guardian, but that's serious political clout for the devil, even though it means zilch for me. Despite the fact that I'm under the oath of Omerta, I still don't know why the heck we're digging up this Japanese kid, and I can't tell from Reborn if he's supposed to have potential or the Vongola's really that desperate.

Personally, I think they're really that desperate based on his scores. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," cue Reborn. You could also replace that phrase with "stupid is as stupid does," and you wouldn't be far off.

Reborn is staring at me. Crap.

_Think happy thoughts! Like fairy dust, long naps, sunshine, a good cup of tea!_

The demon returned to his book.

_I need to call up an exorcist for my resident demon, he's starting to get more creepy, and more importantly, accurate._

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* * *

I focused on my juice for a while, purposely shoving my brain into the game of "what can I see in the clouds," but eventually my thoughts rounded back to what was weighing on my mind when Reborn left for the toilet. I had an irrationally strong desire to lock him in for the rest of the ride, or the rest of his life.

I did not act on that impulse, and thus kept on breathing the, relatively, free air.

I'm not Vongola, as you may have guessed, my situation and "my people" are sort of…weird, so the specifics of the history and lore of the famiglia is something I can't access. Not having access, not having information is scary at a time like this, where the unknowns have literally killed people. I don't want to walk forward with a blind fold on and my hands tied, so I'm hoping I can ferret out some secrets from Reborn's contacts.

Don't hold your breath though, I don't have much confidence if they're like the baby.

The next best is the rumor mill, all the stories that changed hands in Cosorini, the nowhereville where I last lived in Italia. The Vongola was a favorite topic of the people there: basically the entire town was mafia run, subsidized, or happily oblivious, and you'd hear things all the time about the mighty orange famiglia. Other people were popular too, but stories about the Vongola were different from any other family.

Obviously they were embellished and blown up until they were mere caricatures of the truth, but truth still anchored them, made them worth re-telling and polishing up. It's what happens when you get that big, secrets don't stay secret and get mixed in with tall tales old men tell over cigars and whiskey.

The big stuff people talk about are the flame attributes and the magic rings, since anyone who's someone has a handle on that power. Heck, even _I _have flames, but fat lot of good they've done me. They aren't some mythic super power that suddenly turns you into a warrior-wizard, and I can say hands down I'd trade what I have for a NE-3280 Sonic Steamer. The microwave is useful, the flames? Total scam.

Anyway, the lesser known stories are what are more interesting, quiet mutters and whispers about blood pacts and ghosts. It's said the lost history of Italia's underground merges somewhere with our dearly beloved clam corps. My Halmonii always taught me to be careful of ghosts, they have a way of tearing through families, through people. You should always be on guard for those that have collected one too many haunters.

I bet Reborn has a few.

Speaking of which, I've been wondering if Reborn feels guilty about bringing all that darkness and danger to a brat, or if he feels anything at all. He's a bit different from my other teachers, and I can't figure him out behind the persona, the profile he's circulated. I hear Dino survived and doesn't hate him though, so that's a good sign.

Normally I wouldn't care, since my general stance is that civilians are either smart enough to stay away or not my business, i.e stupid enough that I want nothing to do with them. However, Tsunayoshi is about to be my job, a responsibility that will carry forward into the foreseeable future, and I like to do my job right, whatever anyone else says. Believe me, they say a lot.

Being a bodyguard is more than just caring for the physical well being of your charge, it's also about their mental and emotional state. The best bodyguards are the ones who can protect their assignment in such a way that the VIP doesn't even notice a lack of danger. It should be like breathing, so natural and free that their safety goes unquestioned. I'm not sure this kid will get that under Reborn's tutelage, but I'll try my best.

It's a hard job, but I'd take protecting an innocent over killing a man any day, and I think Nono knows that. I don't really understand how I'm here, but I want to do my best for this kid, for this boy that doesn't need the mafia coming into his life. If anything, the mafia, the famiglia is the one that should be getting on its knees and begging _him_, and if I have my way, it'll never, ever be the other way around.

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I frowned.

The power dynamic, the lording over people, the creeping into everything and everyone you know, that's why I want to get out, **that** is what makes me crazy. The mafia stains everything. Even if you have the best intentions, the nature of this world is not conducive to a happy life. It's selfish. Just look where we are: on the orders of an old man, we're going to drag his grandson into a world of bloodshed and betrayal. What kind of person does that?

_Your kind, you._

_'You're not any different, birdy, you're just the same as the rest of us.'_

_Shut up._

I shook my head violently, pulling my glasses off and scrubbing them hard with the corner of my shirt. This successfully smudged all the oil and flecks of dust into the large lenses and I groaned before shoving them back on, adjusting to keep my lashes from scraping along the inside.

Reborn was back from the toilet.

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Fourteen. Who was I at fourteen? Bad comparison, I'm not anything like a civi, but if I was, what would I have been like? Certainly not ready to lead a mafia organization, to be ready to fight and kill and die for people. That's what we're going to do, that's what we're bringing to him, and we have nothing of equal value to gift as compensation for that burden. He's living in a time where his greatest concern should be if he's got pimples or B.O. not if someone's watching him through the wrong end of scope.

What if he likes a girl? What if he's dating? His file says he's pathetic, but files have been wrong. What if we screw up a future he's always wanted, take away his chance to be happy, to be free? We're gonna take away his safety, his peace and happiness, for what? For wealth and fame? For grand adventure? Yes, but also no, big no.

We're calling him in so he can lead an organization, to navigate tense and complicated relationships so deeply intertwined with the shadows you'd think they **made** them. We're having him take up a long, disturbing, questionable history. We're making him a figurehead, a puppet on strings. There's no way a civi can run the Vongola, can withstand the storms, and the old man has to know that. Reborn has to know that.

It's a sham, and it's wrong.

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He probably doesn't even know the mafia exists, and he's gonna be thrown right into the trenches.

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He doesn't even have friends yet.

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He hasn't even really _lived yet._

_._

We're going to kill this kid.

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* * *

I shivered and started when a small, firm hand smacked my forehead.

"Stupid Bella, stop being pessimistic and trust me. Tsunayoshi Sawada will be _fine_. We will keep him safe."

There was a deeper promise lingering under those words, and a silent rebuff.

Even if the kid hadn't ended up as the next in line, he was old enough to start getting drawn into the politics, and inevitably he would have caught someone's eye. Honestly, he's overdue for this sort of interference it usually starts by the time the child is five, mafia fathers normally can track down their offspring by then. The famiglia is old school: children are power.

Knowing that doesn't make it better, but it makes our position easier. We aren't really the bad guys.

It's nothing short of a miracle that nobody's discovered him or tried to triangulate him in a fight sooner. In some ways, Iemitsu gave him a blessing and a curse by cultivating and protecting his civilian life. Safe and peaceful, but ignorant and weak to the dangers he's fated to meet.

At least this way we'll head off the storm, cast a net and reel in lurking threats before they have a chance to attack. Maybe, just maybe, we'll prevent him from being another Federico.

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.

.

* * *

Translations:

1) Stupid brat, shove off

2) Do not speak to me that way

3) Fucking hell

4) Btw, I don't hate twilight. Any twihards reading? I was #teamEdward, heehee!

**Set to update: 3/14/2020**

**(Please bear with the edits that occur after posting: I'm still adjusting to this platform)**


	3. Chapter 3: A Hitman's Promise

**A/N**

**Hello! We're shifting perspectives for a bit to look at Arabella from the outside, see what other people see. Enjoy, please review!**

* * *

When the plane finally had wheels down in Tokyo, Reborn was relieved. He'd realized in the last few weeks that his tertiary assignment was a barely contained basket case with a fiery temper.

The hitman had narrowly avoided letting loose the full fervor of his rage when the brat had disposed of the Colombian coffee beans he'd received as a gift. It was a loss he felt keenly as the batch had been especially good, espresso laced with exquisite fruity and acidic tones.

What a loss.

He wasn't proud of how he'd snapped, but the incident had forced him to change his opinion of her: the girl was willful and stubborn, unwilling to take an insult lying down. It was yet another inconsistency in her file.

.

.

Readying himself for the door to be opened, Reborn monitored Arabella out of the corner of his eye. Legs crossed up in her chair, eyes closed and breath even, she'd spent the last three hours meditating. It was impressive control for one so young and he hadn't noticed even one slip into dozing off.

She was aware of her surroundings, aware of what was happening even as she removed herself from the flow of movement and command.

_Dangerous. She's talented…but loose, without an anchor…without direction. A timebomb..._

_ She's more resilient than Bouche gave her credit for, and more perceptive. She's already identified ways to level out the power dynamic between us…created an opportunity to fire back at me the minute I gave her an opening._

_She doesn't accept orders or directions without question. Hm..._

_Promising._

He reflected again on how the Kan girl had ended up under his authority.

.

.

* * *

Mancini had very reluctantly given her file to the Vongola after her last eval showed little progress in the recovery regimen, and one glance at her psych scores had given their specialist pause.

The file had transferred hands through various divisions before it ended up on the desk of the ninth's guardians. It had taken a while for the thick records to receive attention, but when they had, a lengthy meeting had been called.

Nono was intrigued by the girl and a decision was made to use this opportunity to gain a foothold in the academy; Manicini had become unpredictable, and his latest decision in the successorship of the school was unexpected in too many ways. Besides, Nono had other reasons to be suspicious.

.

.

Bouche was ordered to go over the thick reports meticulously, combing the lengthy notes and conversations for inconsistencies and signs of tampering. Nono's instinct had been right, and although the mistakes had been minute and clever, they led to the discovery of multiple fabrications in her story.

Control of Arabella's recovery had shifted further into Bouche's hands as the investigation deepened and the old snake had panicked, sending her away from their direct surveillance and bungling his cover. Arabella was ceded to CEDEF completely, and though the girl was ignorant of the details, she had clearly sensed that something drastic had occurred.

Communication between the two was cut off, and Arabella had thrived.

It was CEDEF that arranged her position with the Bovino famiglia in the countryside, sidestepping complaints and suspicion, twisting the current head's arm to agree. It had come to no one's surprise when Cesarino had welcomed the girl into his home, safely swaddling her in the tradition and structure of their little city.

.

CEDEF called her in often for rehab, and Reborn had followed her story loosely after fielding an irate call from Colonello; the girl had rather extreme deflection habits.

.

Italy had proven almost miraculous in its impact on her health and adjustment back into society, and despite the tension her presence created, she was clearly improving and regaining functionality. Her monthly check ins with CEDEF advisors had given the Vonogla a chance to get further insight into her mind, and Colonello had been particularly helpful in assessing her from a military standpoint.

The results were a mixed bag.

.

.

On one hand, her recovery had finally made headway and she was returning to a baseline she'd moved away from steadily since her twelfth birthday. On the other hand, there was an alarming amount of memory distortion and developmental stunting that had made themselves known.

Her instability as a hitman caused the organization to question mission 258, and it was unsettling the lack of answers they could glean. Who exactly had cleared it? Why had she been the one assigned so early in her training? What happened in the 27 hours missing from the official record?

.

.

* * *

All these questions had only added to the suspicion and caution used to handle her case, even as Iemitsu assigned her a new handler to help heal the damage. The young lion made it clear she was no longer in the red and had tried to remove her name from the list, but official documentation did little to change people's hearts. As far as the mafia was concerned, Arabella was a loose cannon_._

_._

_The problem is, her behavior is out of line with Iemistu's statements. It looks like nothing's changed over the past year and a half..._

_._

Rosemary had cited more than 500 incident reports of insubordination, blatant duplicity, and in some cases borderline treachery in the first year of her assignment. The reports had only grown as the Kan girl continued to prove difficult to control, abrupt changes in manner following no discernable pattern.

Rosemary had insisted that there was a logic to the girl's madness, but in the intervening time she'd been dubbed "The Red Jinx" for her track record on the red list and her consistent involvement in failed ventures.

If she wasn't driving someone crazy, she was blowing a plan out of the water. If a plan was going well, she was causing a stir with the higher ups, getting funding revoked due to her sharp tongue and heavy fist. There were plenty of people that had wanted her booted and wiped from the organization, even a few that wanted her name open for hits, and several held Nono's ear.

It was fortunate for her that the boss had a soft spot for troublemakers and youths. Reborn had thought the girl an idiot with a death wish, but his interactions with her were proving these assumptions wrong.

_She was __**smart, **careful even._

Unexpectedly, she was also completely invested in the job. She _wanted _to keep Tsunayoshi safe, for no other reason that he could see then because she'd decided it was right.

_Dangerous...that kind of thinking is dangerous..._

_._

_._

After his first week with her he'd requested full access to her records, the unpleasant discovery that the brief summary of the past two years was not enough to prepare him for her personality and abilities.

He'd expected that digging into the past would unveil some of her motives, make clearer her drives and rationality, but he'd come up against an unexpected wall. It was then he recalled the many half ignored phone calls he'd had with Colonello about her case and the academy.

.

Apparently her documents couldn't be held credible starting six months into her stay at the school, and Mancini had left out significant portions of classwork, the details of her training trailing off into nothing when questioned.

The process of teasing out the truth was complicated, and her family background had evidently never been recorded. This was suspicious in ways the wider public was unaware of, and it had given Reborn reason to call the sky arcabaleno to demand a full explanation.

An hour of talking only cemented Reborn's realization that Nono was really asking him to play detective. Neither Rosemary nor Colonello had been able to get anything from the girl about her past, and Colonello had the strangest theory that she _couldn't_ speak of it.

.

.

* * *

_"Mah, Reborn, it's not a simple case, kora."_

_"So I gathered."_

_"Don't sound so irritated, kora! We're all annoyed, kora, and you just got on the case!"_

_"I've been aware of it since it went to Bouche. Nono mentioned Mancini's been…questionable…for a while. I assume the boss has had him on his radar for a few years."_

_._

Colonello sighed deeply, voice dropping lower.

.

_"Well what did you expect? __**He**_ _came back different after attending high school. You can't expect me to believe that Nono really thought the school had no part in the…incident."_

_"Mm."_

_"That's it? Well whatever, we're handling her case now, although it's a little too late, kora. That bastardo did something to her, kora!"_

_"What are you thinking?"_

_._

He could almost hear Colonello's face darkening, fists clenching in anger.

.

_"He trained her differently, he was preparing her for something, but we can't get at what. No one can, kora."_

_"And **that** makes you angry? Ridiculous."_

_"No. Not the training, not the hidden mission. It's the timing. Whatever he did, it was too soon: she wasn't **ready,** kora. She's…she's the way she is now because of whatever he taught, however he got inside her head. He skipped steps, kora! There's a reason you're supposed to have a one-to-one relationship with your teacher, kora, why we hold people **accountable**. Asshole's had too much leash for too long kora. Rose and I have gone over the record a hundred times but there's nothing to follow, kora."_

_"Why not just ask the girl? Bring her to T&I and let them grill her?"_

_"Bastardo, don't you think we've tried!? She can't answer, she doesn't know, kora!"_

_"Lies."_

_"Reborn, I'm serious, she doesn't know kora."_

_"You must've failed to interrogate her correctly. Were you directly involved? Or was Grennada? Are you going soft because she's a __**girl**__? Make you think of Lal?"_

_"Watch yourself, Reborn. Keep Lal out of it."_

_"Hm."_

_"…"_

_*sigh* __"Well if that's not it, what is it? Explain."_

_"…do I really need to? You've never experienced it? When you can't speak about something because it's just that bad, kora? Because there aren't words, or your mind has wiped it out for you? Or because someone else tucked it all away. I know you have. I have, kora."_

_._

Reborn was quiet. The faintest wisps of memory eeked into his mind unbidden, blurry and broken images of a time before he was_...this._

_._

_"...So that's it. That's what's happening. PTSD or some form of induced amnesia?"_

_"Yeah. We think so, anyway. There are so many inaccuracies in her paperwork, kora, it's unbelievable what that fucker got away with kora! It's doubly bad 'cause she's not the most reliable historian either. She distorts her past after a certain point, a little before __**that**_ _job, 258."_

_"On purpose?"_

_"No. Turmeric and I went over it: we think she has another wall, something Bouche didn't pick up, kora. We scanned her and it's not at the marker Bouche left, it's gotta be deeper. And get this, **it's not one of ours.**"_

_"What."_

_._

This was big. If Bouche couldn't pick it up, if the sweep that was done wasn't reading specifics, where exactly was it in her mind? Who put it there? Why didn't the Vongola have records of such a skilled mist user? More questions without answers.

.

Colonello sighed again.

_._

_"We don't know, brat doesn't know either of course. We keep digging and coming up empty. It's a fucking mess, kora."_

_"Smells like treachery."_

_"It is, but not enough to get our pal sent to Vindicare Prison, kora. Listen, if you want to know about her record or why she's the way she is, I got nothing, nothing that's hard fact that you don't already know. Best you'll get is Rosemary's opinion of her, kora. If you want a breakdown of where she is now, I can give you that. So what do you want, kora?"_

_"Hm…if that's the best you can do, send me a write up from Rosemary by tonight, and give me what we have on Mancini. I want eyes on the snake; we've let him go for too long. Give me her specs."_

_"Right."_

_._

There was some yelling in the background as the order was relayed and then Colonello was back.

.

_"She's pretty normal for a recruit, with a few exceptions, kora. Standard lightning, some affinity for other flames but it's weak. She's weak, being honest. Eyesight is 30/30, she's a natural with long range shot, picks up a gun and moves with it like it's second nature, kora."_

_._

There was a brief pause and the sound of rustling papers.

_._

_"...Handy with daggers; she's a two hand in combat, favors her left slightly with daggers and vice versa with guns. Chooses a Glock over Sig, but she also reaches for a Yargin when it's available. Don't know when that started, we assume Siberia, but it's a damn strong habit. Avoids snipers, but when she's pushed she has 7/10 accuracy on a cold shot, one thousand meters."_

_._

Reborn gave a low whistle.

_No wonder they kept her in the fold..._

Colonello acknowledged his surprise and moved on.

.

_"She's been out of shape, but we have her clocking two miles at 15 minutes and 54 seconds the last time we evaluated her. We told her if she came in over 16 again she had to start formal training kora, so that's one of her triggers, along with sniping."_

_"Noted."_

_"Handles hand to hand like a noob, but her foundation's solid, some mixed martial art style, kora. It looks American, but she's heavy on Chinese footwork and framing. She's got a weird Russian throw she does, but it doesn't matter 'cause she sucks, kora. If she's pushed she can get out and run, but her only real strength up close is speed."_

_"…but she's not fast."_

_"Yep."_

_"So she's open."_

_"Exactly, kora. A liability. She's all over the place, damn idiot, but she **can** learn when she wants to. Quick study when she's motivated. Don't know who gave her the basics, that's the only thing that's damn solid, kora. Packs a punch when it actually lands."_

_"Hm. She usually misses?"_

_"Mentally she's out of it, kora. Psyches herself out, hesitates on following through or gives in at the first sign of a threat, kora. She cracks if you push her to shoot, so don't. Just, don't. It ain't pretty, kora."_

_"Does she lash out?"_

_"No, goes catatonic. Rose broke her out of her reflex to go on the offense: it was a real bitch to retrain her, kora. Now we're working on not shutting down. There's some headway, so be thankful, kora. She doesn't respond well to punishment, just regresses into bad habits so don't try that either. Fucking skipped and shot up a platoon when I took her to town about close combat rifle use, kora!__"_

_"...so she's stable now?"_

_"Are you even listening, kora? Let me put it this way: she's thin ice over a field of landmines. We don't know where those landmines are or if anyone ever dealt with them because shit-for-brains Mancini is exactly that, shit-for-brains kora!"_

_"Your vocabulary never ceases to amaze, 'Nello."_

_"Shut it, kora. We've been dealing with the motherfucker for over a year now and I'm ready to take an injunction to that school, kora! Just wait until he comes knocking on your door, asking for a report, kora. Damn entitled asshole thinks he won't get caught."_

_"…I thought he was on probation, that he was stripped of his privileges?"_

_"Well so was she, and look where we are, kora. He's the principal, damn fool has friends, kora. He does have official orders for separation and restraint, I think, but we haven't been able to use that, kora. Slips away right when we're about to pin him."_

_"I see. And how many __**friends**_ _does the girl have?"_

_"Jinx? Who knows, kora. Not many, probably, not anymore. There were a few people she was partnered up with, but no friends or external loyalties listed in her record. 'Course, the record is all bull, so what does it matter kora? She could be hiding ties to Carcassa and the rest of that scum and we wouldn't know. Neither would she, kora."_

_._

Colonello sighed deeply, and Reborn frowned.

.

_"You sound tired."_

_"I am. A lot of shit's gone down since Iemitsu reopened the Flood of Blood case. It's hard on him, it's hard for all of us."_

_"...he still feels guilty?"_

_"Never stopped."_

_"Hm. I haven't visited in a long time, I should stop by, say hello, pay respects. The statue makes for a good memorial."_

_"Yeah."_

_._

Reborn's frown deepened, his voice growing softer.

.

_"Don't think about it, don't dwell, you can't bring them back. You know that."_

_"I know."_

_"Iemitsu's in the right to reopen the case, to bring them justice. They deserved so much more than what they got, and I will personally assist in any venture Iemitsu chooses to settle the score."_

_"...but will it bring them peace? Will it bring any of us peace? I still see it sometimes, the doors opening, their bodies...their faces...and I wonder, I can't help but wonder..."_

_"Yes. It has to. It will."_

_._

He sighed again, and for a moment Reborn saw that cheerful face in his mind as it once was, swarthy and handsome but hardened by the job, the life of a soldier. How many terrible things those blue eyes had witnessed, how many comrades he carried on his shoulders. It was with great effort, Reborn knew, that he returned to the topic of Arabella.

.

_"You know, it's funny that you called about her, I was just starting to think about the brat, kora."_

_"Oh? Miss her?"_

_._

He chuckled, and Reborn smiled. That was better.

.

_"She's not the type you forget about, Reborn. You might hate her, but you'll notice when she disappears."_

_"The embodiment of lightning it seems."_

_"If you want to get poetic. __She's a damn brat, kora, but she's got guts. Give her a chance, Reborn. You might take a shine to her."_

_"Mm. She surprised me."_

_._

He could hear Colonello grinning in earnest now, shaking off the sorrow.

.

_"She tends to do that. What was it this time, kora?"_

_._

Reborn paused before breezing forward, ignoring the question as he studied his nails.

.

_"I'll call if I see anything outside you and Rosemary's report. Remember to send over Mancini's location and full file, I want the orders restricting his movements. I'll set him straight if he tries anything in Japan."_

_"Oi, details Reborn. What'd she do?"_

_"…"_

_"I told you what I know, now spill, kora! Depending on how bad it was, we have to write her up."_

_._

He'd stoked Colonello's curiosity enough, distracted him enough to allow the embarrassing event to come to light.

_What I do for friends..._

.

_"…she burned my coffee beans…the last bags I had from Colombia."_

_._

A choked gasp sounded, and then raucous laughter. Reborn smiled.

.

_"Fucking hell, that girl's got **balls**, kora!"_

_"I see where she got her mouth."_

_"From the best, kora! Fuck yes, I'll give her a call myself and-"_

_"You do that 'Nello and I'll tell Lal about the Caribbean mission."_

_"What?"_

_"Call her, ask for details, and the whole story comes out. Every. Last. Detail."_

_"…why are you such a damn killjoy, kora?"_

_"We'll talk again, 'Nello. Take care."_

_"Yeah, yeah, you too, kora. And Reborn?"_

_"Yes?"_

.

He hesitated, voice loosing its bravado and gaining weight when he spoke,

.

_"…look after her. She needs it."_

_._

Reborn stayed quiet for a long moment. Promises made between their group were a serious thing, and the kid was already a headache. He'd read enough into her facade to get an idea of what was behind the mask, and he didn't hate what was there. But there was a big difference between remaining neutral at an arms length and taking someone under your wing.

He wasn't in the habit of giving out passes to irritating newbies, but Colonello also wasn't the sort to ask for a favor. In the end, somehow that wretched girl had come up on the right side of the rain arcobaleno, and that meant something. He'd already made an effort to lift Colenello's spirit, it'd be worthless if he backed out now.

Sighing and already half lamenting his decision, he replied,

.

_"I'll do what I can."_

_._

_._

* * *

They were walking through the airport now, Arabella glancing back at him now and then. Her shoulder's were tense, always tense, and Reborn watched her case the area reflexively. At least she let him walk behind her now without spooking. He'd hit her with Leon the first few times for how easily she'd startled and the deep seated mistrust that had come through those big eyes.

The glasses didn't help.

It seemed in the past week or so she'd accepted him, somewhat. Now he just needed to reinforce his position of leadership and control, get her to follow through on orders without a flood of questions or a five minute delay. He could already tell it was going to be a long process to get to that point, and a part of him really didn't see the brat becoming dependable any time soon.

All this wasn't even taking into account his main job, the Japanese kid. _Christ, what a mess. I need a drink…_

_...and she's talking again._

_._

"Reborn, do you think the hotel has toilets that play music when you go? I heard Japan does that, something about modesty. Think they play classical or rock n' roll?"

"I don't care."

"They also have heaters in the seat! And built in bidets according to the pamphlet I saw...do you use a bidet? Actually, can you even use an adult toilet? You're body's so tiny and disproportionate..."

.

A gun was in his hand and pointed her way, startling several passersby before they relaxed at the sight of his baby body.

_Stupid civilians._

Bella raised her hands in mock surrender.

.

"Wahh, so short tempered! It's an honest question you know!"

"I have my answer, right here."

.

The girl blew a loud raspberry and Reborn shot a hole through her bag. Crying out, she twisted and turned the leather backpack around, looking for missing items as her water bottle spilled all over the floor.

.

"You're so rude, you ugly baby!"

"Hmph. You irritate me."

.

He ignored her glare, lifting the gun once more at the muttered stream of curses from her lips.

_Bad habits, no doubt Colonello reinforced them the fool...good mastery of language, except the one she needs._

_._

"I'm just trying to hold a normal, _civil, _conversation with my boss-baby-thing- whatever I'm supposed to call you! Is that really so bad? C'mon you fedora wearing demon, you must have some interest in Japanese tech. They have **bread in a can**! Everyone needs to know that, the Japanese are geniuses! And they have really advanced toilets!"

.

_Why? Just...why? I don't get paid enough, I don't get enough vacation or benefits for this shit. The damn brat is pushing again, testing the limits...patience. Don't let her win._

He took a subtle breath as her eyes flashed under the lights.

_Brat._

_._

"A true hitman is not surprised by the technology in his assignment. There should be no surprises."

"Uh-huh."

.

She looked unimpressed and disappointed, but for a moment Reborn saw something calculating in those eyes.

_What are you plotting?_

Walking to the baggage claim, Reborn weighed his options. He didn't feel like talking, but it was an opportunity to build their meager relationship and to probe her mind in return. Swallowing his distaste for the mundane topic, he gave a short answer.

.

"...there is an impressive apple peeler on the market."

.

Bella blinked once, twice, and then burst into laughter, clutching at her sides and wheezing.

.

"...laaaammmee!"

_I'll kill her. _

_._

_._

* * *

**Set to update: 3/21/2020**


	4. Chapter 4: Phone Call

**A/N**

**Back again! Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

It's 3am in Tokyo, Japan and I'm awake. The lights are all off, the clock is throwing blue light from the bedside table between the beds, and the lump under the covers of the queen closest to the door is Reborn.

This arrangement was not my idea, but he decided it the minute we got in the room. The windows are sealed, we're on the 15th floor, and the room isn't a Jack and Jill. The light over the entrance is motion activated: there is one entrance and one exit.

My suitcase is open on the stand at the foot of his bed, narrowing the walk way, and our shoes line the depressed area near the door. He moved a heavy stand with glass flowers right in front of the shoe area and it's impossible to get to the bathroom or door without sliding around it. The flowers clink when the stand is nudged even a little and this room has hard wood floors.

It's a trap, a jail, and Reborn is the jailer.

.

.

* * *

I can hear the hitman shifting and getting up, getting ready to walk around the city again. He's done that the past two days, and each day he comes back a little later. I've been awake for half an hour waiting, and as I listen for the sound of the door, I focus on slowing my breathing, my heart, relaxing my limbs.

Twenty-five steps to the door, a pause. Maybe he's looking back, scanning the room, judging whether I'm really still asleep. The jet lag has been a problem, but last night I hid the Benadryl under my tongue and spat it into the toilet so I'd sleep lightly.

Yesterday I almost missed Reborn leaving, but the man in the room behind our headboards turned on the tv, loudly.

I force myself to remain limp, to fight urge to freeze and stiffen up like a board. There's shuffling, I can hear his heels click softly on the tile, two locks turning.

_One..._

_Two..._

_Three..._

_Four..._

_Five..._

_Six..._

_Seven..._

_Eight..._

_Nine..._

_Ten..._

_Eleven..._

_Twelve..._

_Thirteen..._

_Fourteen..._

_Fifteen._

The door opens quietly and then clicks softly shut.

_Sixteen..._

_Seventeen..._

_Eighteen..._

_Nineteen..._

_Twenty..._

_Twenty-one..._

_Twenty-two..._

_Twenty-three…_

I keep counting, but this time Reborn doesn't double back, doesn't re-enter the room even after five minutes pass. Slowly, I role to the side of the bed and pause again, just in case I'm wrong.

.

.

The door remains closed.

.

.

I'm up and moving quickly, lights still off. Avoiding the trigger wire lining the floor, I carefully make my way to the desk pushed near the corner of the wall and reach past the clever booby trap for the center drawer, gently pressing one hand up over the motion sensor when the camera briefly clicks shut.

Setting the sensor just off course for the third time this week, I step back into the narrow window it leaves me and check the angle. All clear.

Shifting the magazines and menus aside with one hand I can feel the slick material of the bag I stuffed in the back the first day Reborn went out. I've been moving it around the room each night, and yesterday I chose the toughest spot in the room.

Where things are well guarded they are also overlooked.

Pulling the heavy curtain open to allow light from the moon and the skyscrapers to filter in, I glance again at the door.

.

.

Still shut, still quiet.

.

.

Hands steady, I grab the phone and flip it, cringing a little as the phone rattles in the receiver. Taking a screwdriver, the back panel is off and I'm pulling wires, cutting the insulation and twisting them together with the white and black lines from flat black box still resting in the bag.

.

.

The door's shut. No footsteps.

.

.

No sound from the other rooms; one is empty, one is occupied. Business man, Ukraine born, German bred, in the energy trade. Likes to watch the news, understands French, barely speaks it, failed to download a dirty video last night and switched to trading stocks shortly after. He won't wake up until at least 9am after the very sweet complimentary martini he drank a few hours ago.

.

.

The phone comes back together quickly and with a deep breath I press the switch on the black box and watch as two little red lights flick on, an internal whirring beginning. Good, this time it worked. I have exactly one hour to make this call before the line is tapped.

Three other things remain in the bag, and I pull out a box the size of my index finger. Inside, a glass card as long and wide as a stick of gum and as thin as a microscope slide sits in velvet lining. Lifting it delicately and turning it to catch the low light, the frosted numbers stand out just enough to be legible as my finger prints transfer.

.

"010 - 49 - 341 - T, R, E, F, F, E…N." I mutter as I punch the buttons and hit call.

A rhythmic clicking starts from the black box.

.

The phone whirs and a gentle ringing sounds as the number goes through. I glance at the door again. Light shines from the hall, uninterrupted by shadows. Another click and then a cool, male voice answers.

.

"Sie haben das büro von Herrn Johann Weimar erreicht. Er ist zur zeit nicht in der lage, an das telefon zu kommen, also hinterlassen sie bitte lhren namen, Ihre nummer und eine kurze nachricht. Vielen dank und guten tag." (1)

.

The voice became female.

.

**"Bitte sprechen sie nach dem signalton und nehmen sie Ihre nachricht auf.**

_(At the tone, please record your message)_

**Um unsere neuesten veröffentlichungen zu hören, drücken sie die taste eins.**

_(To hear our latest publications, press one.)_

**Um einen mitarbeiter zu erreichen, drücken sie die taste zwei.**

_(To reach an associate, press two.)_

**Um andere filialen zu erreichen, drücken sie die vier.**

_(To access other branches, press four.)_

**Um eine beschwerde zu melden, drücken sie die fünf.**

_(To report a complaint, press five.)_

**Um diese optionen erneut anzuhören, drücken sie die sechs." **

_(To hear these options again, press six. )_

.

.

Before the tone could ring, I punched three. The whirring started again before the same woman came over the phone.

**"Sie haben eine option gewählt, die derzeit nicht verfügbar ist.**

_(You have dialed an option that is not currently available.)_

**Um zu den nachrichtenoptionen zurückzukehren, gehen sie bitte drücken sie die sieben. Um zurück zu-"**

_(To return to message options, please press seven. To return to-)_

.

I punched eight. Silence for moment before the voice of the initial speaker came over the line flat and stern.

.

"Identifikations nummer" (2)

"Eight. Two. Seventy-five. Two. Five. Five."

.

There was another pause and the language changed from German to English.

.

"Call transferring. Please hold."

There was no music, just flat silence as the call changed hands, transferred between countries. My breath started to come quicker as my chest tightened and the black box clicked rhythmically. The receiver picked up the phone and I held my breath.

.

.

* * *

"Hello Ms. Kan. We've been expecting your call," a female voice with Italian accented English and a touch of a sneer addressed me. My breath whooshed out.

"Yes, I apologize for the lateness of the call, I had difficulty creating a time that was safe and private."

"I see."

.

Unimpressed, dismissive. I could see her in my mind, dark curls falling over her shoulders, dark eyebrows arched, expression careless.

.

"Yes." My resolve was wavering.

"Well, I suppose you've called now, haven't you, Jinx?"

.

I felt dread creep in.

.

"Yes…" My voice cracked.

_Shit, keep it together moron!_

She sighed.

"And you want to reach Donna Rosemary, correct?"

.

I could hear her looking at her nails, considering the manicured, flawless French tip, flicking the dust away on her pristine white desk.

.

"Yes, I'm due for a check in."

"Ah, yes of course! A check in. We would not want you to miss that, would we?" Her voice was mocking and my heart dropped at the subtle threat. Hands shaking a little, my voice came out weaker.

"Marianna, please, I need to report to her. I'm trying to follow orders, and I know you know that."

"Hmm? Orders? What orders? No one _ordered_ me to send you to Donna Rosemary."

Her voice was like cool silk veiling poison. Gripping the phone tightly, I looked at the clock.

.

.

_Forty-three minutes left…_

_._

.

"Then what _are_ your orders?"

"My orders? Wouldn't you like to know…"

.

Desperation crept up my throat, but her game had already begun.

_Too late..._

.

"Marianna, please, I just need to speak to her, to give my report."

_Rushing her is useless, don't even try. _

"Why don't you give me the report and I'll pass it along, in due time." She was laughing.

_She was laughing the last time too, and the time before that, and the time before the time before. Always laughing, always the __**same **__laugh... _

.

It was suffocating, the room, her voice, the eyes I knew were gleaming with an ugly pleasure and delight. I tried again.

.

"I can't do that, it's meant to be a direct report and check in, you know that Marianna." My voice faltered.

"Oh? Well, that's too bad. Goodbye, Ms. _Seventy-five_." Sugared tones echoed as the phone moved towards the receiver.

_I don't have another card! I can't __**get**__ another card! I can't get __**anyone **__if she drops this goddamned call! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, I'll have to go to-no, no, __**no-**_

"Wait, wait, wait! Wait! I, what do you want? What do you want?!" My heart jumped and I threw out a hand involuntarily, quickly drawing it out of the line of the motion sensor.

.

.

A shadow passed by the door and I froze. No turning of the knob.

.

.

I focused on the phone.

.

.

She was giggling now, a sound like bubble gum and crystal chandeliers. My stomach turned at the sound, and I sank further into the chair I was perched on. _Play along, just play along…_

.

"What do you want Marianna." There was no force left to my voice.

"What do I want, what do I want…" She sang to herself, swiveling about in her chair.

.

I waited.

.

"You could grovel, plead. Tell me how much you _need _me to transfer you, or how _sorry _you are to have been born. Tell me, Jinx, how _miserable_ is your life, how _important _is this call?_"_

.

She wasn't finished, I knew better than to interrupt.

.

"No. I change my mind. That's no fun, we did that last time; it's no good when I can't see your face!"

.

I was silent.

She went on, voice cheery and light as she ran through her favorite topic.

.

"Tell me about the night Jack died, relive it a little for me, that's always fun. Then I'll send my report to headquarters, give myself some time with Ganuache…"

She licked her lips.

_Play along, play along..._

_'Little girl, don't you ever stand up for your damn little self?'_

Shut up.

.

"Yes, let's do that," she added.

I jerked back into the present.

"You tell me about the night Jack died, and I'll transfer you into the main headquarters. How about that?"

_._

_Liar, liar, liar_

It was an old trick. Darkness swirled up from deep inside and I could feel my face go cold.

_._

_'Hah! So she has some fire after all...ya need that if ya gonna shoot.'_

.

"Oh? Not happy?" Marianna taunted.

.

How many times had we done this? Each time she stuck the knife deeper, gouged into the old wounds still dripping, bleeding.

_I hate her. _

_._

_'Nobody gonna do your job for you, little girl, you gotta take life by the balls, make __**it **__work for __**you**__.'_

_._

_Shut. UP._

.

"It's a fair deal, I do something for you, you do something for me. It's very fair, very, very fair for_ you_." There was glee in her voice that had been hiding before.

I bit my tongue, hard. The coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth and nose, sharpening my focus.

Breathe. Breathe. Keep it together: that's her real face.

I swallowed, gingerly rubbing my tongue against my teeth.

.

"What's wrong? Is poor little Jinx being mistreated? Are you angry? Are you...cracking? There's no big man to shield you little girl, nobody to make things go away, haha!"

.

Sickening, simmering, deep set rage, malice. The cut was still bleeding, zinging and throbbing dully.

_._

_What you gonna do, little girl? What __**can**__ you do? Hah!'_

_._

_Stop talking._

"We-ell, life's tough, isn't it? Poor, poor little Arabella. You "didn't ask for any of this," just wanted "_to go home!_" Poor, pathetic, little _bitch_."

_._

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…_

_._

_'You really are pathetic little girl. Real pathetic. Make you angry?'_

.

"…Will Nono come save you? _Make _me put the call through? _Me_ do something for _you_…"

_._

_'Gonna run? Where? Hah! What's that ugly little face? God, everything about you is pathetic.'_

.

…_Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-Two…_

.

"…it would all go away if you just told me what happened to Jack, tell me what you did. You _remember _don't you? I know you do, everyone does, you little _liar…"_

_._

_'What? You got somethin to say?'_

.

…_Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three…_

.

"…Say something, you _snake_, speak! Tell me that you want me to help you, that you are all _alone, helpless, useless! _Beg, trash, whore!"

_._

_'Come on, what is it? You dumb? Dumb, pathetic, angry little girl aren't ya?'_

.

…_Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven._

_._

"…if you think after what you did there is _anyone_ who could want _you_, you are more than just a blind, backstabbing, _miserable little..."_

_._

_'So that's it then. You really are useless, huh? Can't even fight back.'_

.

…_Fifty-nine. Sixty._

**No. Watch me, asshole.**

.

I set the phone down and took a deep breath.

_In, and out. In, and out. Breathe._

I cradled the phone and glanced at the clock.

_._

_._

_Thirty-nine minutes left._

.

.

The door was still shut. I could hear snores faintly from the wall.

.

.

I stared at the phone, and then placed it to my ear, mask sliding into position.

_._

_'Fucking hell! Shit girl, where'd you come from?!'_

_._

_No emotion._

_No fear._

_Nothing._

_._

_'Who taught you that, huh? Fuck, hurts.'_

_._

_Ice and steel._

_Nothing._

_._

_'You're a cold little girl...shit, what a punch...'_

_._

_Steel._

_Nothing._

_._

_'...I like you!'_

There was a yawning black hole where my heart was meant to be.

_._

_._

* * *

"Marianna, do your job."

"_W__hat_? Are you _ordering _me? You think that _I_ would answer to-"

"Transfer. Now."

.

She went quiet, and for a long moment neither of us spoke.

The black box clicked and the clock hands moved forward.

.

"Marianna-"

"Transferring now. Have a good day, _you damn jinx_."

.

Her voice was like syrup, and there was a burst of victorious giggles as the line went silent.

A pause, operatic music, then a sonorous, gravely voice answered. My eyes flew wide as my heart lurched up to choke me.

_NO! NO, NO! SHIT!_

_._

"T&I this is Ricardo speaking, how can I help you?"

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

**Translations:**

1) You have reached the office of Mr. Johann Weimar. He is currently unable to come to the phone, so please leave your name, number and a brief message. Thank you and good day.

2) Identification number

**.**

**.**

**A/N**

**I've tried to incorporate some easter eggs/clues in the chapters as I've gone back and cleaned things up (your patience and continued dedication to reading is much appreciated!).**

**Numbers are important, so look at them carefully if you're interested. The phone number should tell you where the call went to, and names have meaning. If you crack it, let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5: When the Dead Come Creeping

**A/N**

**Double upload! Huzzah: see, I didn't leave you on a cliffy!**

**I do want to give some advanced warning this is not a cheery chapter. Important, but not cheery. Enjoy and review!**

.

.

* * *

My mouth was glued shut, eyes wide.

_Nononononononononononono…_

_._

"Hello? Who is on the other end?"

_Nonononononononohelphelphelphelphelp…_

.

"…Kan, it's you isn't it."

_Stopstopstopstopstopgoawaygoawaygoawayno!_

_._

"Good. I'm glad you finally called."

_Helpnogoawaystopnonononogononostop…_

_._

"We have much to discuss. Report."

_He'llkillmekillmekillmenononononostopstophelphelpHEL-_

_._

"Kan."

.

Hard and gripping, his voice cut through the noise in my head. Numbness set into my body.

.

"Report."

.

It was not a question.

.

"Yes, sir."

.

.

My mouth moved and a voice that sounded like mine told him about Reborn, about Japan, about my job, about blowing up Cesarino's robot. Grey noise buzzed in my skull as one thought looped in my mind: _It's him, It's him, I'm talking to him, It's him._

_._

I couldn't move, as he listened, disturbingly silent.

.

He sighed.

.

I breathed again.

_Careful, be careful._

.

"So, you've been causing trouble."

.

.

This also was not a question.

.

.

"When I speak, you answer. You've been causing trouble **again.**"

.

His voice took on a familiar edge.

"…yes sir…" I answered faintly.

I could feel my body vibrating from tension, joints aching in protest.

I remembered him.

I knew this man. I could picture the deep wrinkles and crags of age that marked his tan face, those deep set, calculating black eyes, the meaty hands and muscly build, shirt left open at the first two buttons with the sleeves rolled to show massive, hairy forearms and 23 thin white scars criss crossing up.

.

"What? Speak up!"

My tongue unglued itself, voice found itself.

.

"Yes sir!"

.

"Good..."

.

He was thinking now, assessing. Not good. Was he wearing the gold watch?

_Don't look at me, don't think of me, don't even acknowledge I exist. Don't. Don't._

_._

Then, he spoke.

.

"Listen to me very closely, Kan, I don't want to repeat myself." He never had to.

_Don't. Let me go. I'll listen. Promise. Please..._

_._

"Yes sir."

.

"I know what you've been doing."

My heart stopped, and I could feel the hairs on my arm standing up as a chill swept through me.

_Oh God, no. _

"I've been tracking your reports. I know."

_Stop. Please, go away, someone, anyone, please!_

He was silent, waiting, letting the statement, the accusation, hang between us like a smoking gun. He was aiming, deciding where to send the next bullet, what to break first, what to do to drag secrets from deep inside my gut, what would make me scream. Those hands never shook, never wavered. Terror, irrational and animalistic coursed through me as I desperately squeezed my eyes shut and pushed away the images filtering rapidly into my mind from the last time.

_Please. Please. Someone...please!_

"Prima è saltata, poi è scappata. Dove correrai topolino?" (1)

_The cat and the mouse...no, please, please, I don't want to play this game, please!_

There was a rumbling chuckle, and I bit down hard on my still tender tongue, letting the pain chase away the freezing fear encroaching on my mind. If I panicked, if I let that flood pull me under, that would be it. He would win, and I would be stretched until I broke. I had an idea of what he wanted now, of what he meant, and I wanted to be wrong. If Ricardo had a reason to ask me questions, if he had a solid goal in mind, there would be no escape. The mouse had no friends, the mouse curried no favor: the cat would never let her tail go.

I would be sent back.

For a moment I could smell the pungent scent of stale cigar smoke mixing with wood varnish and ink, a faint whiff of bleach and old blood leaking through the hidden door behind the shelves. The hotel disappeared and I was there, on the polite side of his office. I pressed a hand over the speaker and muffled a shrill scream in the skin between the thumb and pointer of my other.

_No. I'm here. I'm **here!** I am far away from him. I am._

My mind spun away from me when he moved and the leather chair creaked.

_I can't go back, I can'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't- STOP. Stop it! Stop it! Keep it together, keep it together!_

_Please! Someone, anyone, please! Help me, I need, help, please!_

_Please, I can't, I can't, I can't, can'tcan'tcan'tcan'tcan'tcan't-_

Something was snapping inside, breaking deep, deep down underneath, buried. I jerked, one hand flying to my head, curling into myself and pulling the phone away from my ear as heat flew down my spine in sharp, stabbing sensations. Breath coming in short gasps, my hand buried itself in my hair as another spasm tore through me. I grit my teeth against the shattering sensation spiking across my body.

_StopstopstopstopstophurtsithurtithurtsITHURTSITHURTSwhywhywhywhywhymewhywhywhymehelphelphelphelp-_

Stabs of pain attacked my arms and legs radiating away from my spine along the neural pathways firing indiscriminately, sending my muscles tightly contracting and jerking, now my thigh, then my shoulders. My hands shook as hunched inwards, buckling down against the roar of sound in my ears and the trembling, shaking, spastic movements of my limbs. One voice kept surfacing from flood, and I reached for it, desperate for something to anchor myself on.

_'...don't need...stupid...'_

_myheadmyheadmyheadwhywhywhywhywhyWHY?!_

_'Yo! I'm...you're kinda small for...wrong with...to go...'_

_whatwhatwhathappenedwhatIdon'twhywhatwhatwhatdidhedotome?!_

_'...be your...just like...little bird...'_

_Helphelphelphelphelphel-_

_**'...Birdy, let me give you some advice: don't be a basket case.'**_

The noise in my head slowed, swirled around that voice like the eye of some strange storm, settling as it cut through the torrent of hysteria and pain. The sharp sensation traveling along my spine tingled and faded into something more familiar, a strange warmth chasing after it. Disoriented, my focus tunneled and pinned itself on that voice (memory?) as it continued.

_'I can't stand that type. If you're gonna be some sorta "type," be stronger. 'Cause crazy don't suit you.'_

_...be stronger._

_Crazy don't suit you..._

My eyes opened a sliver. The dark of the hotel made itself known, winking lights of the skyscrapers and passing cars further grounding me as I noticed the neon signs in Japanese. This wasn't headquarters, Ricardo wasn't doing anything to me, the phone wasn't even near my ear. I felt blank, numb. My mind traced its way back to that voice, diving back into that moment, when had that been?

.

Whittling, he always used to whittle, and always chess pieces.

.

My breathing evened out, deepened.

.

Jack didn't play chess.

_'You know what you need? Hobbies. Hobbies are important. You get yourself a hobby, you won't turn into one of these maniacs. I would know.'_

_A cheeky smile. I was skeptical. _

_'...you know that makes no sense, right? Like, how the hell do you get from this to that?'_

_A laugh, not at me, not at anything. Wood curls falling into a bag at his feet, a fire cracking and burning, smokeless._

_Always smokeless; we didn't want to be found._

_'Ah, Birdy, it's all connected!'_

_A knife that macho was too big and sharp to be waved like some letter opener, but he didn't care. Warm, by the fire, by his side. _

_'What is?'_

_A glance, a knowing smirk._

Idiot.

_'Everything, trees, birds, even us. So don't make me connected to a damn loony, got it Birdy? You keep it together, keep your cool like you do. Don't crack on me Birdy, we got a long road ahead of us. Got it?'_

_Blue eyes, blue like the sky before a storm, gray and stern and honest._

_Wood in my hands. Ah, a knight this time. My fingers tracing the pale wood of the horses head._

_'...Got it.'_

_._

I was myself again, reeling and unsteady, still clinging to calm by my fingertips, but no longer in the yawning darkness of terror and uncontrollable pain, movement.

_Don't crack, don't speak, don't move. Don't move, don't move, don't move. It'll go away, please, go away, go away, disappear. Please._

_Center yourself. Come back. You're here, you're here. **Look.**_

I did. At the city, the beds, the wall that separated me from the snoring businessman. A siren sounded outside, and the high pitched scream was a comfort. I was not alone in my fear.

.

.

The phone was still in my hand, the door was shut. Ricardo faded out of my mind as I stared at the bar of light between the floor and door.

No one was there. No one, not Ricardo or Grenada or anyone.

_He's not here. Not here. No one is here._

For a moment relief relaxed the anxious pit in my belly, and then the faint echo of Ricardo's words rang in my ears and my heart dropped. Suddenly, deep sadness mingled with fear and I shuddered, mind jumping to me, to Ricardo, to Reborn, to right now. I was alone, no one was coming, not for me. Ricardo knew that. I was the mouse in his favorite fable.

_No one is coming. No siren for me. No one._

Another memory, weaker now, harder to recall.

_'No one is going to come. No one ever comes. Not for us.'_

_'Not for us, Birdy.'_

_I know._

_I forgot, but I remember._

_I know, I know Jack._

_I remember._

.

.

* * *

Ricardo was speaking again. How long had he been speaking? I only knew what Jack had said. I tried to focus through the tangle in my head.

"...I see your plan, and I'm ending it. I don't know who told you you could cut your ties to the Vongola by screwing up, but it was a _lie_."

_No. Stop. No more. Stop. I'm tired. I'm so tired._

Fear tried to jolt my heart, but I had burned all my reserves earlier and I had nothing left. Apathy or calm? I didn't know which was which. Maybe Jack would have known. Since when had I thought like that? Somehow, it felt like a hole that had been walled off was suddenly filling with water, like a pit at the edge of the ocean's tide filling and smoothing as wave after wave crashed over it.

_Where did the knight go? What did I do with it? What happened?_

_._

"You understand?"

_What? What did he say? Understand? I don't know, I'm not, I don't know. I'm not listening. What do you want?_

.

"You were _lied _to, Kan"

_Lies?...what lie?_

I tried to put things together, pushing away distractions, struggling as the waves kept crashing.

_._

Silence lay between us as I strung his words together.

_Plans, what plans...what does that mean?...I never said...oh._

.

Shock.

_Wait. No. Why? No. No. __She wouldn't. Not after everything. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't..._

_._

_It makes sense._

_._

_No. No._

_._

_Look. Look. See? It makes sense._

_._

_...she's the only one who would notice...'Nello would rather die..._

.

_Traitor._

_._

_no_

_._

The water swirled high up over my head, cold and dark. Betrayal and acceptance, acceptance because that was all that was left, the only thing I could do, the only thing that fit in with Ricardo's hints. I didn't have the strength for anger, though disappointment did thread its way through the pain and apathy. Rosemary. Rosemary. Of course, _of course. _Well, I should have guessed, should have thought things through.

_She told him..._

_She told him._

_About me. She talked to **him.**_

The image of the cold tiles, the bright lights and the sweet, cloying smell of serum mixing with the strong smell of bleach hit me. Steel and leather restraints, two way mirrors, the metal cart, _**t**__**he chair**_ flashed through my mind and a surge of emotion snarled to the surface.

_._

**_Traitor._**

I caught my breath at the stab of fury and hatred that stole over me. Murder briefly flashed in my eyes and I sucked the killing intent that rippled off me back in quickly, shaking my head to dispel the boiling heat, the restlessness made from fear and sorrow and bitterness and _pain_.

_How dare she?! I'll kill her, I'll kill her! Traitor! **Traitor!**_

No. No, I wasn't like them, I wouldn't **be** like them. So she was a traitor? Fine. FINE. I'd let her live.

_no_

_No. That's not enough. Not enough._

I swallowed the rage, feeling a tingle in my hands, a warning. Faint, jagged sparks of green jumped from my fists, breaking up the signal from the call. Carefully, focusing on one finger at a time, I relaxed my hold, simultaneously pushing down my gut reaction just like she taught me.

_Hah. What a joke._

I took a deep breath.

_You know better. You know more, you are not the same as them, you are **not** like before. Think. Think. You know her. Think._

Another breath and adjustment of my glasses. I pinched my arm, hard.

_It's not her fault._

_._

The betrayal was bitter, but if I thought about it even a little bit, not unexpected. This was the mafia, Rose was a handler, and I was her charge. That was her job, it was her job to talk about me. That's why we knew each other, I knew that, I should've. No, I knew it from the start, but I forgot, because she was good, because she was CEDEF and CEDEF were experts. I forgot her role, I lost sight of the rules, I thought I was special. I was an idiot, and I almost wanted to laugh, to run from the ache behind my eyes.

.

I snapped back to attentiveness when Ricardo chuckled, and froze.

_Shit! Don't forget where you are! Get out of your head you dumbass before you screw yourself over!_

_._

He kept laughing, purposeful and confident. It sounded like gravel going through a blender.

"We've invested in you, topolino, you have debts to pay. You don't leave, you don't disappear, you don't die until we're finished with you, capito?"

Anger as potent as acid spilled to the edge of my tongue, bleeding afresh as I caught a hiss between my teeth.

_I know, I know, God, go **away**, leave me **alone**! **GO AWAY!**_

I was so tired, so done. I hated him, and I hated Rosemary, and Marianna, and Grenada, and Collonello, and Iemitsu, and everyone who wouldn't leave me alone, who needed me in shreds, who cast my feet in cement and tried to pick my brain while I drowned_. _

A current of green jumped along my body, sparking off the metal of my glasses. I wanted to let it go, to let that rippling energy blow a hole in the wall, strike out and finish all of them. It grew, humming beginning to grow loud enough to register, and it was only the slight charred smell of my clothes that halted their progress.

_Don't forget Reborn. Don't forget. THINK._

Ricardo had stopped laughing, no doubt having heard the tell tale sound of my slipping control. His voice lost some of its lilt and humor.

"If you pull another stunt like what you did in Cosorini I'll black list you and print your profile in the next bingo book."

.

The spinning in my head and boiling in my heart ground to a halt, chilled to ice.

.

_What?_

_._

"You get me, Kan? I'll drop you from red to black if you step out of line again, and I'll put a target on you so big hitmen around the world will take it, just for fun." There was no joke, no meanness in his voice, just stone cold fact and command.

.

"Topolino, nobody leaves the mafia alive, don't you know that by now?" he mocked as he tilted back in his seat, sounding almost grandfatherly. An illusion, he was no father. "Now, why don't you give me a name, hm?"

.

A name. He wanted a name. I was so close to snapping, to screaming and laughing and ripping something apart. The humming waved in and out like a generator, and I dragged my fingernails over the flesh of my thigh. No. There was nothing to gain from lashing out.

A name. Hah.

There were so many I could give, but none were what he wanted, and he wouldn't believe me even if I said them. What inspired my desire to leave? Who told me I could get out if I walked the delicate line of nuisance and traitor?

A bitter grin, all teeth and no smile took shape on my face, and in the reflection of the window I could see the traces of blood and the bare hint of green magnified by my glasses in my eyes.

.

I looked like a monster.

_._

Ricardo's voice was growing harder but still silky, persuasive, at ease. He was a master in the art of wheedling away at resistance. Too bad; I knew what that voice could do, how cruel those hands could be. There was no real kindness, no substance, no honesty in this man.

.

_Idiot. I know you. I __**know**__ you._

_._

"You're not smart enough to think these things up alone. You don't play the long game: you're impulsive, erratic, and you don't _listen_. So who is it?"

_Beg._

_._

"Who told you to mess around, to gain expulsion?"

_I. Don't. __**Talk**__. Not to you. Not__** you. NO.**_

.

"Who told you we'd let you walk away if you blew enough jobs?"

_Nobody asshole, no-bod-y. _

.

"Give me a name little girl. "

_Nobody. No. Haha!_

_You get nothing. No._

.

.

* * *

We were at an impasse, clock ticking down with no sign of either side giving way. The image in the window watched me, green dying and fading as the situation pressed down on me. A year and a half in the making and everything fell to pieces. A year and a half of going crazy, of weathering through penalties and punishments and isolation. A year and a half for nothing. Nothing. In the end, I didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of leaving.

All I wanted was to walk away before I cracked and either blew up into flames or tears. A thin veneer of apathy and deadness were capping what I really felt, and I clung to it, wanting it to stay forever. But if it did, Ricardo would never let me go.

_Damn him, damn him, damn it all!_

I had very little control left, and gambling it all on one trick, I let the latent fear bubble up past the deadness weighing it down. My body was too tired to be tense anymore, limbs aching from stress, mind creeping along just fast enough to handle the game.

_Give the people what they want. Let them eat cake, fluffy, useless, empty cake. _

.

If Ricardo believed I was liar, a traitor, I'd play the part. I knew the game, I knew what he wanted me to be, what I probably was. I didn't care because it didn't matter. So what if I was a liar, so what if I was a traitor? I couldn't be anything else, and maybe I didn't want to be. Not for him, not for them.

"No one! No one. There's no name. I thought-no one. Sir." My voice was tired but shrill. The ice, the deadness was still there and I frowned. The girl in the window stared at me blankly. I glared.

_Be convincing Bella! CRY. _

Tears welled up. A hiccup slipped through.

.

He was listening, hard. I gripped my fist tighter, dousing the current trying to surge outwards.

_Come on, focus! Focus, sell it, take it! Take it, and let it end. Come on, take it and leave!_

.

"Hehhhh, that so?"

_Come on Bella, cry. Be afraid, be nervous, let. it. in._

Eyes green with flames spilled salt water as the current settled into a sharp burning deep in my head. Everything went blurry. The deadness was cracking, my instinct to squash that pool of everything rising up fighting back.

.

"Yes sir," I answered immediately, flatness creeping into my voice.

"Not lying, are you?"

"No sir."

_Yes, because you want a lie, so I'll lie. _

Green, ugly and beautiful, everywhere.

.

"Because you know what I do to liars, don't you?"

.

"Yes…sir…"

_Break them, then call lies truth._

The humming was inside my ears, ringing like church bells, like a siren of my own making, a siren only I could hear.

.

He let a long pause hang in the air.

_I know you, asshole, I know your tricks. _

_._

_._

_Twenty-two minutes left..._

_._

_._

"Good."

I could have snapped. What was good? I needed away from this phone, I needed out of this room, I needed to be gone, far, far away, some place where I could scream and cry and break my hands punching the wall. That burning in my head, in my eyes drove my heart faster, and as it fluttered and jerked, I imagined a bird caught in a trap, desperately trying to fly.

_._

Freedom, that's what it was. My freedom. It beat its wings once before settling in its cage and a new hollowness ate me up inside. A sharp pain in my head, and then long buried words.

.

_Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul..._

_And sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all..._

_._

_Never stops..._

_._

_At all..._

_._

His voice was startlingly clear, like he was right there next to me.

_._

_'Little girl, what do we live on?'_

_Go away._

_._

_'Freedom! It's the American way, and it's all life's worth, it's everything!'_

_I don't know you. Go. Away._

_._

_'Burn that in your tiny bird brain, capiche?'_

_Please. Just stop. Stop. I can't do anything more. I can't._

_'And sweetest in the gale is heard, and sore must be the storm, that could abash that little bird, that kept so many warm. You listening?'_

_._

I was crying. Real tears were falling. Ricardo was still talking, but I couldn't hear him over Jack, Jack who wasn't here even though he should've been.

.

_Please stop. Go away. No more._

_._

_'Learn it, you little wretch. It's the best goddamn poem out there, Emery Dawson or something.'_

_Dickinson, idiot, Emily Dickinson._

_._

_'Keep going. Just, keep going. It's okay. It's all okay. Promise...'_

_._

I didn't want to think, I didn't want to hear anymore, but I heard it anyway, remembered anyway, the day I went back to again and again. The day that started everything.

.

_'We'll live a good life, little bird. You and me, we'll give the old bastards a run for the hills. We'll make more money than the world has ever seen, we'll raise hell, and then we'll disappear! Poof, like magic! That's how you do it, Birdy, that's how you do it. Make 'em want you gone, then go! They won't look, and we won't be found. I promise.'_

_._

A sob ripped its way out.

_I'm sorry Jack._

_._

* * *

"Kan, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, a wee bit of information I think you ought to know. You listening?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, good. You follow your orders, you do this job, and I'll let you walk. Debt paid, I'll let you go. Promise."

"..."

"Capito, Kan?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. We'll be in touch."

"Yes sir."

"Remember, no more screw ups little girl. You fail again and I will personally write up your bounty. You'll have plenty of takers."

_Die._

The phone clicked off as he hung up, and slowly I lowered the handset, letting it drop into my lap.

.

.

_Seven minutes left._

_Reborn's not back yet._

_._

I sat there, and I stared out the window at the city. Then, all at once, I squeezed the phone and let loose a massive surge of electricity. The internal mechanism fried and hissed, acrid smell of melting plastic drifting upwards.

.

* * *

My hands moved without me, detaching the box, replacing the back panel, returning everything to its rightful place. I took it all to the bathroom, squeezing past my suitcase and sidestepping a grenade line. With the door shut and locked, I laid everything on the counter, mind blissfully blank.

The glass card I wrapped in toilet paper, twisting and crushing it before dropping it into the bowl and flushing. Turning on the shower, I placed the black box under the spray and watched as it smoked and burned internally, destroying the jamming mechanism. It dissolved in a disgusting mass of black and red gel on contact with the water. Under the cover of the sound and steam I let myself crumple to the floor, let the jagged flames circle and snap over my skin wildly.

.

_Hope is a thing with feathers._

_And it perches in the soul._

_It sings the tune without the words._

_And never stops at all..._

_._

_._

I let myself wail.

.

.

.

* * *

**Translations:**

1) First she leapt, then she ran. Where will you run little mouse?

\- Referencing Joseph Jacobs "The Cat and the Mouse"

.

Poem "Hope is the thing with feathers" by Emily Dickinson

.

.

**Next update: 4/4/20**

**\- I may have some trouble with that date because of online classes, but I will try. Stay safe!**


	6. Chapter 6: Tokyo Run

**A/N**

**I wanted to briefly give an apology for all the back editing, I know it's frustrating and I'm very grateful to those that are sticking with the story. There will be no major edits going forward as I've finally figured out the best way to get my final version down in this format, so please forgive me!**

**I do not own KHR, only my OC and the plot. Feel free to leave me a review! I think going forward I'll probably give a shout out to those that do:) Onwards friends!**

* * *

When I eventually got out of the shower, I found that Reborn had returned from his morning patrol and planted himself in the plush armchair next to my bed. My eyes darted to the phone on the desk, the camera that was now reset to its former arc. My heart sank: I had forgotten about that. Avoiding Reborn's gaze, I turned and got into bed, hiding my swollen eyes behind the tangled mass of my dark hair and yanking the cool comforter up to my ears. A loud slurp and the smell of coffee signaled that Reborn wasn't letting me go so easily, and I stiffened involuntarily under the sheets.

"I see you made a call earlier. Have some trouble with the line?"

I didn't answer. It wasn't a surprising probe: the tan receiver had cracked slightly under the pressure of my hold, gaining black burn marks from the surge of flames I pushed through it. I'd pretty much given up all hopes of stealth and privacy when I fried the phone, no longer focused on the goal of keeping Reborn out of my life. In fact, the baby hitman had honestly ceased to exist in that moment, people I hadn't seen in years looming larger than life in my mind for the brief hour and a half Reborn had been absent. I was in no mood to play games, and I answered tonelessly,

"I got angry."

The espresso cup clinked subtly as it was placed precisely in the divot of the saucer. Reborn was always intentional when he moved, and without looking I knew exactly how much weight that one gesture had. There was a pause, and bone deep fatigue asserted itself once more, sleep weighing on me heavily now that I'd emptied myself of that barrage of emotions. Lulled to sleep by the sound of my own heart beat, I was brought to when he spoke again, not bothering to tread lightly after my response.

"You finally called headquarters."

It took me a moment to process the question, and grumpily I gave a short, "yes."

Reborn was not finished, his voice even as he continued.

"You went through an external operator?"

"Yes."

"Transfer through the main desk?"

"...yes."

"To report your situation and current project?"

"Yes."

"You observed the code of Omerta?"

"Yes."

"Were you successful in your report?"

"Yes."

"Did you speak with Rosemary?"

A brief flash of hurt and anger sparked within me, but I let it go immediately as though I'd touched a hot stove, unwilling to dive back into that sinkhole. There was more than one monster waiting for me down there. I could feel Reborn's eyes on me and couldn't stop myself from curling into a ball, hiding.

"No. Ricardo."

Reborn inhaled sharply.

_So, they know each other._

Bitter spitefulness welled up as I considered the association, how quickly Reborn would learn about my new predicament, the "altercation" I'd had with my superior. I had been banking on Rosemary providing me some time, at the very least, a chance to set boundaries with the hitman to prevent him from shadowing me and breathing down my neck like all the others before him. After the threat to be dropped from red to black, to go in the bingo book, any hope I might've had of gaining some independence and space had evaporated. He'd probably know the new parameters of my probation by the end of the day, and if I was allowed to walk without a tracker I'd be surprised.

"I see. You usually go through an operator to reach a superior, using the jammer?"

"Yes."

There was no point in lying, though I couldn't see why Reborn would ask me these things. People like me used operators, it was well known and accepted, built into the hierarchy. That's how all freelance hitman and low level grunts accessed higher ups like Reborn or Ricardo or Nono. Actually, Nono had an additional level of security, but that didn't matter and I was never told what it was. I was never going to be in direct contact anyways.

"You disposed of the evidence?"

_Duh. What do you think I am, a complete greenhorn?_

Now it was starting to get annoying. Was he asking obvious questions on purpose to humiliate me? Yeah, okay, I knew I wasn't showing great form blowing up the phone and forgetting to reset the surveillance cam, but getting rid of the jammer was standard practice, grade one expectations. I sighed once and tersely listed off my process. If he was going to go down the list of evaluation question, I might as well head him off and answer without prompting.

"Destroyed the jammer in the shower, removed larger residue and flushed it; the bag is in the tank, number destroyed and any potential links to CEDEF removed. I was going to repurpose it and scatter the wiring tools later today, but obviously there's no point now."

"Hm."

"Anything else you wanna know? The guy next door is knocked out, there's no one in the opposite room and there's no room directly across from us. Below us is the indoor pool which is closed after midnight and remains closed until seven am. Above us the room was vacated in the afternoon and left unbooked until five pm today. Cleaning staff goes home at eight and since you left one person walked by, moving too fast to set up any equipment. The glass is tinted and reflective: you can't see in from the outside, and anyways I didn't turn on any lights. Happy?"

"Hm."

Irritation mounting, I scrunched down tighter and gripped the sheets hard.

_I just want to sleep. I do not want to be conscious, I do not want to talk, I do not want to be analyzed, or questioned, or examined. I want to be dead to the world. _

Reborn slipped from the chair and walked, presumably, to the desk. Maybe he was examining the phone, maybe he was looking at the camera, but whatever he was doing didn't matter. Once again sleep pulled at my mind, and I dozed off into blissful darkness.

OOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOo

Reborn glanced at the mop of black hair peeping from under the covers, the deep, even breaths assuring him that she was actually asleep this time. He'd noticed this morning that she was asleep, her clever and skilled faking slipping when he paused at the door. He'd been waiting for her to push back against the suffocating surveillance and safety measures he'd put in place, already well aware of how sensitive she was to any form of caging and stripping away of control. Arabella Kan did not respond well to commands, spoken and silent.

The room had been set up as a sort of test, an advanced version of the one he knew was used at the academy. He'd modeled it off Colonello's original plans for the CEDEF training curriculum, raising the stakes by releasing bursts of killing intent through the night to introduce an active psychological threat. Her sleep had been predictably poor the past nights, but she'd retained extraordinary control of her emotions and had not once lashed out or shown aggression towards him. He wasn't sure if she was too thick to realize he was priming her to respond negatively to his presence, or if she was remarkably resilient to such attacks. Either way, he was (grudgingly) impressed by the results.

As he'd thought, she had a good foundation and excellent skill in casing the scene. A lesser hitman might have missed the subtle tells she'd shown entering and exiting the hotel, eyes scanning faces and marking exits. Her total appraisal of the situation, from the rooms to the hall, to the outside of the building and her way of removing the businessman from the equation was masterfully done. It was only the end to the test that had been disappointing.

Turning the charred receiver over in his hands, he frowned. Yes, the girl was impressive, but sloppy, losing her head over a phone call and forgetting entirely to cover her tracks. What was the point of doing your research and prepping the scene if all that information went out of your head when you needed it most? For a trainee her age, the results were enough to promote her far and above her peers, but with her background it was still short of the mark she needed to qualify as the tenth's bodyguard.

As she was, it was too early to introduce her to his contacts and give her the responsibility to manage Tsunayoshi's surroundings in Japan. He was loathe to make her another grunt, but progress needed to be made before she could be trusted to manage complex cases alone. Placing the phone down and observing the faint marks on the arm of the swivel chair, he smirked. At least she had fire power, and when pushed, seemed to exercise a level of control.

He went through the recordings from the camera, frowning anew at the instances where her body appeared in frame and the blatant disregard for stealth shown towards the end of call. There was something off about these moments, and as Reborn replayed the footage again and again, a suspicion formed in his mind. He could not tell much from the three times her body appeared before walking off, but it was enough to tell him that something had happened. Ricardo had evidently effected the girl. Slowing the frames at the end, the camera had managed to grab an image of her from the side, electric green eyes set in a stone face.

He set the tapes away and approached the girl cautiously, charcoal eyes scanning her face. A pang of guilt went through him as he noted her swollen eyes and irritated nose, clear signs that she'd been crying. It had not been his intention to send her into a confrontation with Ricardo handicapped, though this unexpected outcome had given him a much clearer sense of her limits. The change in who received her report was suspicious, and he had no intention of allowing the variables in his tests to be altered without his input.

If he were to plan the scenario again, Ricardo would have to be a calculated move, not a curveball. Reborn knew that with Bella's history it was unlikely for the conversation to fade quickly. The guilt returned.

He sighed, and after watching Bella's face crease and frown, lifted one hand to hover over her forehead. Reaching deep within, he drew out golden yellow flames, the power setting his pacifier and hand glowing as he centered his thoughts on the girl. Moments later her face relaxed and smoothed, body losing tension as her mind healed from whatever poison Ricardo had spewed. Letting his hand fall, the hitman noted how vulnerable she looked without the big glasses and tight buns hiding her natural appearance. No doubt in a few years she'd be a beauty in her own right, and as he walked towards the window, he made a note of that in his evaluation book.

Everything, every last piece of information he had gleaned from her had gone into the steadily growing file he'd started after the dismal results from Colonello's end. If the rain arcobaleno could not offer hard and trustworthy information, Reborn would get it himself. Already it was proving useful as a way to guide his interactions and lessons with her, though he doubted she knew that. Here was a student that needed a less explicit form of intervention.

Ducking behind the curtain shielding Bella from the sun's rising, Reborn watched the waking city, hands in his pockets as Leon crawled about on his hat. For a moment he seemed lost in contemplation before suddenly tilting his hat down to shadow his face. Pulling a phone from inside his jacket, he was quick to punch a number, waiting patiently as it rang.

"CEDEF information and analysis department, this is Marco. May I ask who's speaking?"

"Caiossu, Marco."

"Reborn! I haven't heard from you in ages: what do you need?"

Reborn smiled a little. It was always good to hear the voice of old friends, and though Marco had retired from active fieldwork, there was no one Reborn would trust more to ferret out obscure information. Well, except maybe Viper, but the mist user had always been more of a hired hand than a friend to rely on.

"I need all the phone records for calls placed from Arabella Kan to headquarters, bases, operating centers, etc. If she made a call, I want to know where, when, and who it went through. I also need time signatures: how long she was on hold, did she spend time speaking to people along the way. If you have records of the conversations as well, I'm looking for three things: are the words Jinx, traitor or red list used."

There was a long pause as Marco typed away, and Reborn pet Leon's head thoughtfully. The man on the other end sighed.

"Well, I have the records here, but the calls are not generally recorded for the higher ups. If you want I can code those words into the system and scan the messages, but it'll take a bit of time. Still want me to do it?"

"That depends. Do you have the names of the individuals answering and the time spent on the phone?"

"Yes, though it's based off the schedule board. Anyone could have picked up to cover. It looks like she's made calls into headquarters at least once a month, and she's averaging about...five minutes through the operator, and something like...twenty minutes through the secretary."

"I see. Code those words in for whatever was recorded, and send me a list of the top ten persons most frequently fielding her calls with those three markers. I have some work to do."

"Understood. I'll have it to you by the end of your day."

"Good. Ciao, Marco."

"Ciao! Take care, Reborn."

Swiftly ending the call, Reborn went through the speed dial and punched one more name. By now, his face was stoney. It appeared that the underlings had been administering punishments well above their station.

* * *

Much of the day had passed by the time I got up, and the lack of Reborn's presence was both weird and comforting. He'd left a note with the address of a shop in Ginza and a time underlined firmly. I glanced at the clock: it was now 12:30 in the afternoon, and I had all of thirty minutes to reach Reborn by one o'clock. Cursing, I jumped from the bed and ran to my suitcase, tossing on a black print t-shirt and dark green romper, barely stopping to yank on yesterday's crew socks and shove my feet into reinforced boots. In a move totally disregarding culture, I ran back in the bathroom to splash my face and grab a comb.

Yanking my patched backpack from the floor, I darted outside, fumbling as I strapped on my watch. Digital numbers flipped: twenty-three minutes left. Screaming under my breath, I ran to the stairs and kicked off the first step. The fancy glass elevator would have to wait until tonight.

OOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOo

Somewhere in the process of running wildly out the door, yanking the comb through my hair, and realizing I had no hair ties, I found my way to the store. Was I on time? Not exactly. But, I did have a new and very interesting development to share with Reborn: I had a shadow.

Digging in my bag to try and find anything to save my terrible bedhead, I bemoaned my lack of glasses, listening as my stomach growled and moaned back. A dusty scrunchy was uncovered, and after much rubbing and shaking, held my hair in a loose bun. Slipping the bag back on, I glanced about casually. Usually my glasses reigned in my sharper-than-normal eyesight and actually helped me focus on things up close. On this day, my lack of glasses was surprisingly helpful.

_One, two...just two. Okay, mister three must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Let's see if I can't lose at least one more before I meet Reborn._

Nodding once at the baby, who by this time had come to the entrance, I darted off towards the cross walk, right as the countdown began. Just as I'd hoped, One and Two were following me.

"Oh boy, this'll be fun."

Sucking in a deep breath, I put together a string of words I knew for certain in Japanese.

"HENTAI! HENTAI! GAIKOKOJIN FECHI JIKAN!" (1)

Number One stumbled and tripped up number Two as he panicked, shocked as I sprinted away, screaming the same phrase at the top of my lungs. I could see from the corner of my eye Reborn pressing a hand to his face and shaking his head, and I couldn't help but grin. As number Two righted himself and kept on, face red and far more determined now, the police seemed to close in on number One. My grin turned evil.

_Alright Mr. Two, let's play a game..._

The count had reached ten and was quickly coming to a stop. Glancing back, Mr. Two turned to a flat out sprint, bulldozing several innocent civis to catch up.

_Okay boyo, let's do this!_

I made as if to dart across the street right as the light changed, causing one woman to shriek in alarm and several cars to honk. I ignored all of this, planting my left foot and swiveling sharply on the curb, dashing past the rest of the crowd now waiting to cross. More than one of these good civilians gasped and yelled, but the feint had fulfilled it's purpose: Mr. Two was lagging behind and very confused. Weaving in and out of shoppers, I ducked inside a McDonalds and merged into the crowd of customers. Mr. Two kept right on by, and I smiled.

_Mission success! Oh._

The wet, unhappy gurgling of my stomach announced itself, and sheepishly I joined the queue. Right at that moment I suddenly realized how out of my depth I was. For whatever reason, this particular McDonalds did not seem to have the standard American fair I was used to, strange fusion french fries with chocolate syrup, of all things, right next to a wasabi burger...at least, that's what I thought it was. I couldn't exactly read the characters.

The line moved forward smoothly as I squinted hard at the board as if narrowing my field of vision would somehow make the Japanese turn into English, or Russian or Korean or any other language I could read. No such luck, the menu remained firmly Japanese, and before long, it was my turn to go to the register. My throat went dry as I tried to remember the beginner phrases I had practiced. Scrabbling for words, I failed to notice the guy behind the register was just as nervous as I was.

"Uh, onegaishimasu...one (I held up a finger) obychny burger...soshite...kartofel'fri." (2)

The guy stared at me blankly. I cleared my throat and tried again.

"Gomen, ya gaikokujin, watashi no ninonjin wa plokha. Wo yao, I mean, uh, hoshidesu nomer tri, san, cong menyu." (3)

He was still looking at me like I was an alien, and immediately I went through what I'd said in my head. I definitely used the wrong words, definitely, and as I muttered the phrase to myself again, I realized I was flipping into Russian and Chinese of all things. I nearly face planted into the ground, and bowing I muttered "sumimasen, hanasemasen!" (4) repeatedly.

I don't know who I embarrassed more, me, or the guy taking my order. He was very quick to pull up a laminated menu and offer it to me, indicating with one hand and a quiet mutter that I should just point. My face flushed red.

_I should've thought of that, I should've- Oh my gosh, that kid is filming me._

Jabbing randomly at a burger, a drink and a desert, I quickly pulled out my card and handed it to the young man before turning and walking straight up to the boy not so subtly recording. On closer inspection, it looked like he was supposed to be in high school, but I wasn't familiar with what the uniforms meant. I wasted no time.

"Delete it."

"Nandesho?"(5) He had a polite and aloof look on his face, causing his two friends to giggle and turn away. My eyes narrowed, a subtle hint of green flashing in response to my growing agitation and the pressure of the situation. Smiling brightly, I listed off the request in every language I could think of.

"Udali eta. Shanchu ta. Suprimme-le. Cancellalo. Borralo. Sagk-je. " My eyes lit up as I remembered the word I wanted.

"Sakujo. That, sakujo. Now,"(6) I pointed at the phone and arched my eye brow at him.

By this point in time, a majority of the customers in the shop were watching us. I had the supreme advantage of ignorance and a culture praising outspoken behavior, and this coupled with the adrenaline high of running from two shadows and a completely empty stomach gave me a very low level of inhibition. I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted it _now, _manners be damned.

It seemed my high school boy understood, red creeping up his collar as he hastily deleted the video and showed me. Unconvinced, I tapped on several buttons until I reached what looked like the "recently deleted" file and erased it permanently. He wilted a little, and handing his phone back, I cocked my head and thanked him with a bright smile.

"Arigato gozaimasu. Insho nihon yoi. Anata nozomu shokuji yoi!" (7)

He blinked at me several times, and I turned quickly to run back and collect my card, apologizing again and making a general nuisance of myself. Literally everything coming from my mouth probably sounded, and was, gibberish. I think the staff and all the customers were relieved when I finally left. Only after I'd chomped through the burger, fries, coffee, and milkshake did I allow myself to duck into an alleyway to scream into my knees. What an embarrassing start in Japan.

.

.

* * *

It turned out the store in Ginza was fake for Reborn to shake off his own shadows. When I finally met up with him I was promptly smacked on the head with Leon and jerked out the door. We were meant to be in Ikebukuro, which meant more travel time. Honestly, I found it hard to be guilty for my pit stop once we started walking.

Yes, walking. I had thought losing our stalkers was the name of the game, but not so! Reborn had more insidious plot up his sleeve. We were not going to sneak into Japan, no we were going to **announce our arrival.** Does that sound stupid to you? Please say yes, because I don't want to be alone. Reborn is insisting on this ridiculous plan and I have no room to disagree.

He applauded me for my showy entrance, and when I (reluctantly) explained what happened in the McDonalds, he gave me a once over, ordered me to study, and grinned evilly. Apparently I should've let my shame be recorded and posted online to show how versatile I was with languages, to insinuate my experience as a hitman in different countries. I disagree.

.

"Whether you want it or not no longer matters: the underground is aware of our presence and its members are anticipating our move. Showing up on a Vongola plane, allowing myself to be tracked through the city in the first place, please tell me you did not think that was an accident."

"Err...no...never..."

Reborn pinned me with a look.

"You didn't think about it at all."

"Ahaha, not...really? I just figured you always do that...being Vongola and all."

He sighed, jumping up on a low wall to better match my height.

"Bella, while traveling in style and luxury is a must for all hitmen of importance," I couldn't help but snort at this, earning myself a hard kick to the head. "all hitman of importance, and is quite normal for those of the Vongola, it also serves a secondary purpose: intimidation and inpiration. The Vongola is more than a famiglia, it is also an idea. Sell the idea and the power the famiglia holds looms larger than life. What did you learn in school?"

"Useless facts and tactics." Another resounding kick, and this time I fell flat.

_Should've anticipated that._

Getting up I glanced around. Mr. Two had returned, and he had made friends with Reborn's creepers. Fun.

"Try again."

I sighed, loudly, before flipping into Russian. If we were going to be tailed and spied on, it might as well be fun. Besides, Reborn was the one who wanted me to flaunt my skills in languages. I will readily admit I'm a fast learner in this arena, and it is one of the few natural talents I was apparently born with that I am proud of. The other is the fact I'm double jointed.

Reborn glanced at me once and smiled under the brim of his fedora as he listened.

**"****Taktika nomer pyat spravochnike: soberite svoikh vragov vmeste, zatem nanesite udar, kogda oni sobrany. U nas net rabochey sily, chtoby pokorit' yaponskiy prestupnyy mir, no my mozhem ispol'zovat' vashe prisutstviye, chtoby vyvesti nashikh konkurentov na poverkhnost'."**

_[Tactic number 5 in the handbook: draw your enemies out together, then strike when they are gathered. We don't have the manpower to subdue the Japanese underworld, but we can use your presence to force our competitors to the surface.]_

.

Reborn nodded sagely, wicked grin passing over his face and gone before I had a chance to register.

_This baby is scary! Well, I already knew that._

He slowed his pace, forcing me to match him and allowing the men following us to catch up to eavesdrop.

.

**"Pokupka materialov - vot tsel' etogo porucheniya. Skazhite mne, chto vy dumayete, chto budet delat'."**

_[Buying supplies, that is the goal of this errand. Tell me what you think that will do.]_

_._

I raised my arms over my head and sighed, looking in the reflection of one of the store windows to monitor our new friends.

.

**"Nu, ya dumayu, chto vy sobirayetes' razbudit' spyashchikh gigantov. Vy zastavlyayete zhir podnyat'sya, prezhde chem snyat' yego i brosit'."**

_[Well, I think you're going to wake up sleeping giants. You're forcing the fat to rise before you skim it off and toss it.]_

He seemed pleased with my conclusion, and we spent the rest of the walk trading random facts in various languages. At some point Reborn started to speak in Japanese to test my understanding, allowing me to respond in whatever language I chose. It made for a rather hilarious reaction from our shadows.

.

**"****Bakudan wa doko ni ue raremashita ka?"**

_[Where is the bomb planted?]_

.

Our pursuers visibly jumped to attention, our lagging third running to catch up as the others tried to signal him to hide himself. And this was land where the ninja originated. Tsk, tsk, Kakashi-senpai would be ashamed. I responded rapidly in Mandarin.

.

**"Ó, bùyòng dānxīn, wǒ jiēchù dào de suǒyǒu zhàdàn dōu bàozhàle. Nǐ yīnggāi wèn wǒ guānyú jīguāng de wèntí. Guòqù yī nián zhōng, wǒ jīngcháng shǐyòng jīguāng."**

_[Oh don't worry, all the bombs I've accessed I've exploded. You should ask me about lasers. I worked with lasers a lot this past year.]_

.

Frustration was evident in their faces until the third translated what I'd said. It seemed sticking to the big three languages in the area, Mandarin Chinese, Korean and Japanese, threw our friends for enough of a loop to keep them on their toes while not being so obvious that we were playing with them. Reborn had yet to show his own deck of languages.

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**"Sōdesu ka. Mā, watashi wa rēzā ni wa amari kyōmi ga arimasen. Jū o nyūshu shite imasu. Anata wa nani o konomu ka?"**

_[I see. Well, I'm not really interested in lasers. We're getting guns. What do you prefer?]_

.

**"Nan deo isang ssoji anh-a sasil, sayonghal daleun mugileul chajgo sipseubnida."**

_[I don't really shoot anymore. Actually, I'd like to find some other weapon to use. ] - Korean_

.

**"U ̄n. Anata ga shitte iru koto ni koshūsuru."**

_[Hm. Stick to what you know.]_

.

**"Rúguǒ wǒ bìxū dédào yīgè, wǒ huì dédào yīgè. Dànshì qǐng zhīdào wǒ bù huì shǐyòng tā, ér shì bù huì shǐyòng tā. Yěxǔ wǒ kěyǐ ná qǐ yóuqī qiāng huò qítā dōngxī, yòng chénshuì de dúyào huò qítā dōngxī tiánchōng kēlì."**

_[If I have to get one, I'll get one. But just know I won't be using it, not as it is. Maybe I can get a paint gun or something, fill the pellets with sleeping poison or something.] - Mandarin_

.

Our pursuers were rapidly falling behind in this conversation, and as amusing as that was, it served as a harsh reminder that I needed to improve my Japanese skills pronto. It would not do to be Mr. Two or either of Reborn's friends going forward, especially if I was supposed to protect Tsunayoshi. If this game we were playing showed anything it was that deep barriers in communication prevented any respect for your opponent from taking root. Mr. Two might be a fantastic hitman with a specialty in information gathering and martial tactics, but that potential was hard to consider when he was frowning and bumbling around trying to unravel the nonsense conversation I'd had with Reborn.

The bottom line was clear: if you had no idea what was said, you really had nothing to offer since you could neither comprehend nor actively engage. I might be able to understand Japanese decently, which was a huge plus, but I was miles away from being conversational or literate.

_School is going to be an actual bitch...ugh._

Reborn keyed me back into our discussion.

.

**"Doku. Sono keiro ni wa ikutsu ka no kanōsei ga arimasu."**

_[Poison. There may be some, possibilities down that pathway.]_

.

I looked at the baby carefully. I hadn't really expected him to support the idea of lowering my already meager lethality, and he'd also been oddly relaxed and, dare I say, kind to me throughout the day. Did it have to do with this morning, did he get something from that interaction I didn't? Did I miss something? Had I passed some test? Or, and this was uncomfortable to consider, had he known I'd been crying? Did he know what it was about? I stopped my thinking there, jumping lines to return to the idea of the paint ball gun. I had no wish to revisit the conversations I'd had. A brief ache panged in my head before disappearing.

Mulling over modifying a set of guns, I suddenly realized that my idea of exchanging bullets for drug laced paint might end making a weapon a lot more powerful than your average gun. In Reborn's hands, such a weapon could rapidly out class a regular firearm.

_Lord, what have I done?_

_._

**"Vy znayete kogo-to."**

_[You know someone.]_

"Hai."

"Dîtes-moi." (8)

"Ha chiamato lo scorpione di veleno." (9)

"I've heard of her."

"Good. Ah, this is us."

The poor men shadowing us looked thoroughly confused. I allowed myself a giggle as we stepped inside the small shop tucked down a very green alleyway between an ancient looking teahouse and cute bookshop. At first glance it appeared to be some cross between a calligraphy shop and an art gallery, but on entering Reborn and I quickly ducked past the cloth dividers into the backroom. We would not be leaving through the front door, and our "friends" would be left standing for the next few hours before discovering the ruse. What they did then I do not know.

.

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* * *

I turned the black Springfield pistol over in my hands. While I had no interest whatsoever in shooting people ever, at all, there was something admirable about how compact and well structured the little machine was, even if it was designed to kill. I'd been fascinated with weapons even before I was allowed to actually use them, and though memories of that time had faded, the admiration had not. Working in the Bovino famiglia lab had probably made this appreciation worse.

"I think I need this."

"No."

"Awww, but why not? Nono said he'd pay for it, and it's not like I don't know how to use it."

Reborn glanced at me with a dry, slightly malicious expression. I'd been seeing a lot of that look lately.

"There's no point in getting you a gun you won't shoot. They aren't toys, brat." I pouted a little, feeling the jab but not fighting the statement. I'd avoided being called a brat all day, it was annoying to hear the moniker come back.

Nevertheless, Reborn was right. If he put me up against an opponent it was unlikely that I'd actually make a shot. I don't do murder, even when my temper goes haywire, murder is off the table, not an option. That's why paint pellets with tranquilizers would suit me so much better! Apparently this particular pistol was not going to be modified and I set it back on the counter ruefully.

Reborn huffed and turned back to his pile, the Japanese seller rubbing his hands awkwardly at the exchange.

"Mah, mah! Okyaksama, perhaps there are other tools you would be interested in purchasing? We have a recent shipment in from-"

"That will be all, Koki-san."

The elderly Japanese man swallowed his words as Reborn stared at him coolly. Clearly the baby did not appreciate the seller trying to go above his stated wishes. I turned and walked away after that, grimacing as the two argued about prices, my least favorite part of shopping. My eyes traveled over the various guns and swords decorating the display cases. Even though we were in Japan, it didn't feel all that different from the other weapons shops I'd been in over the years, the same smell of polish and grease, the AC unit blowing that weird but oddly comforting aroma everywhere. It smelled like peace, cleanliness, and order.

That association was definitely Colonello's fault.

.

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* * *

**Translations:**

1) Pervert! Pervert! Foreigner fetish pervert!

2) I would like one regular burger and fries. (certain words flip into Russian, like fries)

3) Sorry, I am a foreigner, my Japanese is bad. I want, I mean, uh, I want a number three, three, from the menu. (flips into Russian and Mandarin.)

4) I'm sorry! I don't speak! (she's trying for I speak Japanese poorly, but that was too difficult)

5) What do you want?

6) Delete (it's a version of the phrase "delete it" but it's incomplete, and therefore not correct)

7) Impression japan better, you hope meal good!

8) Tell me

9) She's called the poison scorpion

A/N

Hope you like! I used google translate for all the language stuff, so that's part of what took some time.

Next update: 4/18/20


	7. Chapter 7: And So It Begins

Namimori was a small, quiet town two and a half hours away from Tokyo by bullet train. Averaging between 175,000 and 225,000 permanent residents, it sat between a low mountain range and the North Pacific coast, giving it sunny, humid weather throughout the year. Snow fall during the winter hadn't hit over 2 feet in the past decade, and the proximity to the ocean promised slightly milder winters compared to rest of Northern Japan. It wasn't known for any specific trade or world heritage site, but it _was_ praised as an "ideal place to raise a family."

Namimori was exactly the kind of place a mafia heir would be hidden away, safe from prying eyes or potential dangers and even safer from the heir's own curiosity. It was not by mistake or chance that Tsunayoshi remained ignorant to who he was, and Iemitsu's caution, almost paranoia, made sense after the Beccio famiglia's precious heir got himself blown up attempting to discover his family ties. That was a very unpleasant incident.

I could easily picture a young Iemitsu alighting on this town and using it as a place to safeguard his wife and child. He'd walled off the area from interference and purposely cultivated a sense of unchanging normality over the course of 5 years. I knew from the legers cataloging his missions that he'd overseen the Nest project in person, holing up in Namimori during the early years of Tsunayoshi's life. There were one or two arms of the Japanese yakuza located in the small city back then, but each had been silenced, heads crushed on their own turf. Iemitsu had not stopped there, and a veritable war had taken place over the right to command the North. The opposing side had lost, badly.

Kabuto-kai reigned supreme at the time of Tsunayoshi's birth and even now the remnants of the super power still held on despite the gutting received from Iemitsu and co. Colonello had drilled into my head the hierarchy of the Eastern mafias, and Kabuto-kai had been memorable for its never-ending concentric subordinate groups. The Hachimanza at the time had been particularly ambitious, and within the then limited reports from Vongola espionage, there were over a hundred citations of his work, hundreds more of his pet projects. The Hachimanza was the creator of the modern iteration of the Black Books, and through Kabuto-kai he dyed Northern Japan red in a conquest for land, wealth, and power. Formidable on his own, he had apparently excelled at capturing the hearts of talented underlings and should have become the Oyadama of Japan.

What a disgrace it must have been then, to be exorcised by a lion of mixed blood all for the sake of a little chick barely strong enough to raise its head. Iemitsu was many things, but fool he was not. He knew if he played the part of the cuckoo, he would have to clean the sky of any hawks. At the end of those 5 years, he played his plan out to its zennith and disappeared, firmly enshrouding the little chick in total anonymity, casting a shadow so far and opaque even the talented young Tehen was blind to its true form. Iemitsu's shield was impenetrable, and so long as he never came back, his precious child remained untouched.

How much blood had been shed for this boy? How many sacrifices on the part of his father, on the part of his mother? Iemitsu took up the role of a dead man to keep them safe, and despite his adamant claims that Nana remained untouched by any knowledge of bloodshed, there's no way it's true. The never-ending stream of letters, reports really, from Nana over the years were as much for Iemitsu's benefit as Tsunayoshi's. In that house was a quiet lioness.

Tsuna, if Iemitsu's pet name is to be believed, do you know how precious you are? Do you know how loved you are? Do you know your safe haven is only kept safe by iron hands constantly shielding it from sight? Do you know the disappearance of Namimori is one of CEDEF's most well executed missions, that it is one of the longest running games of endurance on foreign land? Do you know what you have? What you were given?

Poor child, precious child, spoiled child. With a such a cleverly hidden barrier and a welcoming sense of slow, lazy peace your home reminds me a lot of Cosorini, Cosorini that became the seeding ground of a Vongola lynchpin.

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* * *

The apartment unit had already been purchased for me in a complex equidistant from Tsunayoshi's house and the middle school. After staring at the worn structure for a full minute, Reborn dumped me at the door with a "ciaossu," and a warning not to wander until he got back. Apparently I'd have enough to do inside, what with unpacking the boxes of clothes, furniture and equipment he'd seen fit to order. There might've been less if I'd been allowed any say in the damn baby's shopping spree, but as you can probably guess, any input from me was immediately vetoed.

My escapade through the streets of Tokyo did not inspire confidence, as Reborn put it, though how exactly a trigger-happy baby in a fedora was supposed to make _me _feel confident I have no clue. Reborn did not acknowledge any double standards in his evaluation of me (insert rolling of the eyes). At least the packages were put in their correct rooms as per the moving men, and if they really did have instructions tagging them, the work of unpacking should in theory be halved. In theory. Once again, when Reborn has ideas, he doesn't tend to care what anyone else says. At all. Brat.

Unlocking the door and stepping into the cool of the AC, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to whatever set up Reborn had for me.

I promptly screamed.

.

.

.

.

~One minute later~

At my feet lay the "corpse" of an inflatable Reborn doll the bastard had strung up from my ceiling and armed to spring into my face as I walked in. How the hell did he manage to do it?! We were together on the whole journey here! The stupid ass bee-bee gun I'm allowed to carry worked, of course, but now I have who knows how many rock-solid pellets lying all over the floor.

Oh, and you know what else? He lied.

There are no notes, the boxes are NOT in their rooms, they are EVERYWHERE, even in the damn tearoom! There are tatami mats in there, damn bastard! There was a fucking _massively _heavy box in that room, and I'm going to skin him if it turns out the damn _safe_ (of all things!) he dumped in there leaves marks! IT'S THE ONLY ROOM I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO! IT'S QUINTESSENTALLY JAPANESE! BASIL HYPED MY UP FOR THAT SHIT AND I'LL KILL HIM IF IT'S DAMAGED!

Damn baby, damn stupid, demon, asshole, _child. _I hate him. HATE. The whole inner kitchen room is covered in post-it's with scrawled, puffy Japanese kanji all over them. It's kanji. It's not even hirigana. I can't read kanji. I can't read the obnoxious banner he has hanging over the sliding door to my room, but you can bet your ass I can guess what it says. The Sailor Moon and Osomatsu characters sticking their tongues out at me speak for themselves.

Fucking. Asshole.

Allow me to share some of the details of my new (trashed) apartment. My unit is the fifteenth and last on the top floor of a gray, cement, five story building, conveniently located nearest the stairwell to the bicycle lot. I don't have a bike yet, and if the mess in here is anything to go by, I'm not sure I want one. Trusting Reborn (which I advise you to never do. If you do, fuck you for ignoring me and good luck with the bastard) I will get a bag of parts and instructions in proto-Mandarin to try and decipher how to put it together. It has happened. Remember, he is not the only demon child around, he has "friends." But according to my current mood, Reborn is the member of the happy hell babies that is going to die by bleach if I ever see him again. I'll rig a bucket and dump that on him, see how it feels. Where the fuck is he going to stay anyway? I'll find out.

Moving on.

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* * *

This apartment throws long, and aside from the fancy little tearoom to the right of the gray-tiled genken, it's a pretty normal Japanese apartment. On the left wall opposite the tearoom is a recessed wooden cupboard for shoes and that narrower part of the entryway opens into a larger hall that should be a mixed dining room/kitchen space at the center of the unit. I would be more certain if it wasn't being eaten by boxes.

The end of the lopsided hall-room-place has a pair of sturdy shoji doors that are part of the wall dividing a small office space from the kitchen side of the unit. Long kitchen, jut of wall, empty space for a desk or safe or whatever monstrosity Reborn gave me, then a wall with sliding doors for my room. All this on the right. On the left, opposite this weird alcove, is a plain frosted door leading to the bathroom. Everything, and I mean everything, is covered in posters of mocking cartoons, kanji, and boxes. The only way I know what I'm looking at is because of the layout I memorized on the train while stuck with Reborn.

Again, I have no idea how he managed to do this. Even as murderous as I feel, I can't help a tiny, smidgen of respect. Just a smidgen.

But I digress.

There was no way was I listening the green psychopath for a good two and a half hours on our train ride, I don't care how illiterate and stupid I seem. Ain't happening. I paused ripping down the banner from the tall ceiling, foot mashing whatever was inside the box I chose as a step stool. My momentary lapse of focus led to a painful crash to floor and after curling into a ball of pain, I stared at all the papers stuck on the walls. A very annoying, very likely truth was beginning to form in my head, and all at once I kicked my legs out and yelled,

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ALL THIS BECAUSE I HATE THE GREEN MENACE?! ARE YOU FOR REAL?!"

Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, this was _absolutely_ because I rebelled and refused to use the language learning set Verde came up with. Oh yes, that was why he did this. Baby hitmen have issues with insubordination and rebellion of any kind; the Menace is exactly the same.

An evil, slightly manic grin came over my face as my fingers dug into the fake wood flooring and scrabbled into fists.

"I refuse your challenge, you bastardo bambino. I _refuse_ to give in."

Rising from the floor and my toddler-esque tantrum (I'm not above labeling things for what they are) I grabbed my backpack and retreated to the empty tearoom to recuperate. Flopping onto the floor and opening a packet of classic pocky, I stared out the long window across the door, moving to open the two-pane glass and let a breeze ruffle the gauzy white curtains installed above. Dark wood, green tatami, and a gentle breeze soothed the irritation and mild but growing fear roiling inside. Leaning my head into the wall with a light thump, I closed my eyes and tried to center myself, to disperse the growing feeling of being overwhelmed.

Yes, I was angry, and yes, I was annoyed, but underneath that fiery but shallow set of feelings was an entirely different vortex of emotions and problems. Munching quietly on the pocky and trying, and failing, to hold onto my anger, the quiet silence of the room opened up the pandora's box simmering underneath my ire.

.

.

This job is nothing like any of my previous charges, and I knew that, and I was prepared for that, but I was not prepared for what it would _feel _like. I thought knowing what I was getting into, and being given some respect or leeway, just being treated as myself would make things easier, but it isn't. I'm used to being a tool, mindless, soulless, a yes man. I don't think that's what Reborn wants from me, and being in this unit is making that very clear, even if in the end that conclusion is confusing.

The pranks, as annoying as they are, are personal, not generalized hazing. That's scary, but in a way, touching. Evidentially Reborn has tried to figure me out, and this grand display of "I'm in charge you fool" has done its job of reminding me of everything I've tried to ignore. I'd put Reborn's expectations, Nono's expectations out of my mind until now, but under the obnoxious notes, I'm reading the memo loud and clear: "you're on our payroll, make sure you deliver."

The question is, deliver what?

Prior to this moment, the job didn't feel real, and not feeling real was partly me denying that I was being sent on another job. My jobs don't go well, that's a fact, and I never expected to be sent to do anything that required nuance or finesse. I hate Ricardo, I want him dead and burning in hell, but hating the enemy never (so far) blinded me to the truth, and that is that he is a shrewd, astute man. I really did think I'd attain some sort of freedom with all my screw ups and it was a mistake to think that idea would stay under wraps. It was another mistake to the Rosemary was a confidante.

I will not make the same mistake twice.

This job, this situation was not in the cards, and I didn't really think that I'd be allowed to get this close to the heir. My track record is probably screaming the lack of wisdom in that choice, yet here I am. I thought Nono would change his mind, I especially thought Reborn would get rid of me after that call went through, but nothing happened and I am still here, sitting in the nicest apartment I've ever had. Nono said he'd provide everything, and I think I finally believe it.

This time, I'm not in a tiny coffin-apartment sharing provisions with the lowest members of the mafia. I've been given my own space. That alone is hard to comprehend.

How can I put this more clearly? I'm a henchman, I'm not even a henchman, I'm a drop out that never got certified and has been dumped all over the place like a ticking time bomb. I have lived in bad places and done bad things. I have had pretty much zero expectations for success, and I have been forced to do the jobs people hope will fail. Then I didn't live up to those expectations, which meant I made enemies, lots of them. There are at least two mafia famiglias that hate me, and I have possibly alienated a third all in the span of three years. I'm a bad choice politically, I'm a bad choice experientially, and I have done nothing to improve my image. So the fact that I'm _still here _is disconcerting.

That is why the changes didn't feel real until I saw this building and realized I really am going to live here, and I really am going to have to watch out for this kid. They really think I can do this. This is not a one-off mission, it's not go in, kill, steal, spy, whatever and get out, and if you don't, make sure any potential evidence is untraceable, no. This is a chess game, it's CEDEFs plan of endurance. It's the first time anyone has asked me to take a job where I'm important enough to warrant this kind of treatment, and I'm scared. I don't know how to play that kind of game, and I'm starting to get my hopes up: I don't _want_ to fail.

That's worrisome.

I know the history of this place, kind of, but I don't know the rules to this game. I don't know how these people play mafia, and I'm not sure what Reborn wants, not really. The fact that I'm not allowed a real gun, that I'm to keep a bee-bee or paint gun instead is already very strange, and it completely throws all my expectations off balance. I was serious when I asked for the Springfield, because even if I don't want to kill anyone, people sure as heck want to kill me. So if I'm not allowed a real weapon, does that mean I'm not supposed to take lethal force against opponents? Is that really okay? How am I to handle legitimate threats, to myself or to Tsuna?

I can't tell what people want from me and I can only surmise that what they want is not what I thought, and it's not what I've been trained for, what I am used to.

Reborn hasn't been clear on what his goals are for me, and I don't know what I want from myself either. Everything I was aiming for Ricardo figured out, so now there's this yawning emptiness stretched out in front of me. I've been ignoring it since that call, but noI can't now, not with all these other worries grinding away at my mind. I'm aware that I'm vulnerable, naked right now. I don't have any personal ambitions or goals, I'm a little lost, and I _want _Nono and Reborn's approval, because it's hard not to want people of skill and power to acknowledge you, to bring you up on the ladder. If I'm elevated, I'll be strong enough to handle…people. That's dangerous, very dangerous. The last time I wanted that I-

Never mind.

I'm being treated like I have worth, as I am.

What does that mean? Is it my flame? Reborn has shown no interest in that, and there's no way he's unaware. I _do _have a strong lightning flame, but I haven't used it, it's rusty, and it's truly never been my forte. I can't control it well, I didn't receive instruction for it at the Academy, and I only have marginal use of that thing because of Colonello.

Is it my ability to strategize? I've made plans and I suppose I've proved that I can read my surroundings, but I don't know if I could be called an endurance fighter. Mostly I've just tried to stay alive. I've never decided what I should to do to threats, only followed orders or rejected them. Reborn seems like he's prepping me to be more independent, and is that a good thing? I can handle flipping off the boss, I don't know if I can handle forging a path on my own.

Maybe that's Reborn's point.

I want this job to work., at the very least because if I fail, I die. There was a time I didn't want to live, where I considered if it was worth it to struggle against the world, but that time is over, a moment of weakness overcome by a surge of – something. I'm going to live, and anyone who wants me dead can suck it.

I want to live, and I want this space. I like it.

Is that enough?

I opened my eyes and stared at my hands, feeling something heavy and sad settle in my chest.

"Is it enough? Is it okay, to want this?" I whispered.

The wind fluttered the curtains again and I looked up, watching as the sun settled a little further in the sky, afternoon rays strong and unabashed. A wisp of a memory tugged at the back of my mind,

_Birdy, you fly wherever you want to, you do what you like. Otherwise, I'll roast you alive!_

I smiled.

"Alright."

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.

* * *

Eventually I made my way back into the rest of the apartment, considerably less spooked now that some of my consternation had been settled. What can I say? Sometimes you need a good think.

The small mountain of boxes still sat in the kitchen up against the right wall here and haphazardly piled there where I'd tossed a few rescuing the tearoom. No regrets. The opposite side was taken up by the kitchen, a patch of counter space leading into a shallow sink, more counter space, two diagonally set gas burners above some sort of oven/grill all ending in a section of that same flat white countertop. I'd never be able to hide a single mess in this cooking space, and I had to question the functionality, the _sense_ of making a kitchen completely _white._ Wasn't that the worst color for stains? While the color, or lack thereof, was concerning, there _was_ plenty of cabinet space above and below the counter, leaving only a narrow gap near the ceiling. There was a noticeable lack of dishwasher or oven.

"Well, it's just me, so I guess won't need them anyway," I muttered, moving to look at the rather small fridge and freezer unit, gauging the size and fiddling with the impressive microwave balanced on top. It was a somewhat surprising gesture, not having to set up these appliances myself, and my eyes narrowed.

"There's something fishy about this."

Circling it from side to side, it was squashed between the counter and the wall, I tried to suss out any pranks. The fridge looked innocently back at me. I sighed, giving up. There was no way I'd be able to hoard leftovers and takeout in this fridge, not even a two weeks supply of ingredients because of how small it was. Seriously, it came just to mid-chest height, and I'm only 5'3! Groaning, I threw my head back in despair. Grocery shopping and cooking. On top of everything else he was going to have me do (of which I still really had no clue), I was going to have to go grocery shopping and cook, every week.

"…I'll pickle and can everything, survive on snacks. There's no way I'm grocery shopping once a week. I'll die."

I thought the worst of the boxes had been in the kitchen, but no, Reborn had hidden a present in the office space right before my bedroom. I had ignored it my earlier tantrum. There were no lights in this alcove and I had the sudden premonition that the boxes, stacked all the way up to and touching the ceiling, were about to fall. One box stood alone at the foot decorated with a bright note, and bending down, I ripped it off.

"…Damn you Reborn."

In a speech bubble of a cartoon drawing of said hitman, written in cutesy katakana bubble letters were the words: "For the illiterate plebeian. P.S. This is a tetris wall. Pull the wrong box, and they all fall down. Good luck!" I stared at the wall of boxes unblinking.

"Nope."

Ripping open the "present," I glared. Inside was a sleek pair of headphones, a green device similar to an iPod (named rather obnoxiously as a "V-player" after the creator) and a case full of little flash drives. I didn't need the tag to know it was the language learning device that I'd used while I lived in China, the same one Reborn had handed me on the train which I had promptly refused. Unpleasant memories of that time filtered into my head before I plunked the machine on the counter and shoved it away, foul look on my face. Was it useful? Absolutely. Did it work? 100%. Was I willing to listen to Verde's voice for 200+ hours? Hell no. That was the reason I'd rejected the damn thing in the first place! Walking to the bathroom, I muttered,

"I still refuse to accept this. I acknowledge you, damn freak, but I refuse to use that _thing. _Not until I have to. I don't have to, so I won't. No way."

.

.

The bathroom, much like the rest of the house was pristine white. A toilet stood alone in a small closet off to the left, the main room containing a regular sink with shelves flanking the mirror, top open washer sandwiched next it and the wall. Clean, simple, workable, and free of boxes. I almost cried in relief.

The bathing area was not so satisfying. Essentially a large rectangle, the first half was blue tiling that crept from the floor halfway up the wall, a low step coming out to create a shelf under the two shower heads that looped close to the ground. A drain ran along the side of the tub, and I ignored totally the pyramid atop the bath cover in favor of examining the mirror installed on the right-hand wall. I'd never really been one to look at myself closely as I bathed, and I wasn't sure how the heck it could be useful because, ya know, steam? After checking it wasn't secretly bugged or two-way glass (that would be heinous to put in a girl's bathroom, but hey, 'twas the mafia) I let it go and checked the long window of distorted glass blocks. Everything seemed nice and private, so I left without a backward glance at the Reborn figurine hanging from my ceiling.

I refused to acknowledge the cretin. Once was enough.

Sliding open the doors to my room, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sunlight poured in through the balcony doors, white gauzy curtains similar to the tearoom's hanging down to the floor and brushing against the stairs of the lofted bed space. The large open area underneath had been left clear, two smooth, round, thick supports propping up the top space in the same pale, orangey wood as the floor. An AC unit hung over the entrance and I could see the painted heater on the wall opposite the loft, several lumpy packages and my tiny looking suitcase keeping it company. A bare bar sat across the railing outside, weeds growing up through the brick of the balcony.

It felt still, empty, lonely.

For a moment more I stood in the center, unmoving. It was empty, it was lonely, but it was mine. Something leapt in my chest at that thought, and like an automaton come to life, I pulled the balcony door open, slid out the screen and locked it in place, before turning back to the zoo of boxes in the rest of the house. It was time to work!

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* * *

Three hours passed and I was thoroughly done and ready to murder Reborn, again. The stupid baby had bought ridiculous numbers of room specific cleaning products, furniture with complex, Japanese only instructions that rivaled IKEA, multiple different kitchen gadgets, cookware and spices but no actual **food**!

"Unfucking believable, of course, OF COURSE HE DOES THIS! Why didn't you see this coming, huh Bella? Why didn't you think of that when you came in? Why didn't you actually OPEN THE REFRIGERATOR?! You see, THIS WAS THE PRANK!"

Resting on my newly put together table was a bowel of flowers I'd found on the center shelf inside the fridge with a note saying: "Check the freezer."

There had been nothing but an empty tray for ice and a pop-up paper clown with a sign that read: "Psyche! Learn to fend for yourself."

I yanked at my hair and kicked an empty box across the room, scattering package materials all over the floor. "WHERE THE HELL DO I FIND FOOD!?"

.

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* * *

In another part of Namimori, sitting atop a wall with a pair of binoculars, a small hitman smiled. Stroking Leon's back he said,

"Your idea was very good Leon. Let's see how she handles this new challenge."

His smile turned evil as the sound of angry huffing and the slam of a door registered through the bug. He would have to wait for her to discover the loose floor panel in the kitchen. In the meantime, he was satisfied that his apprentice had broken through the slump she'd been in since his last test. A faint buzz resonated from his suit pocket and flicking open the sleek phone, blue light briefly showed a promising caller. Crossing his legs, Reborn settled into a comfortable slouch.

"Good evening Nono. I have a something of interest to report."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It's about the girl. There are some changes that need to be made regarding the underlings."

"I see. I trust you've done your research."

"Marco sent the files to Ganache to look over. He should have a finalized report on your desk by this evening."

"Hm. How goes your preparations? Nothing amiss?"

"As expected. Iemitsu's work is solid; the boy is relatively…normal. Slightly worse than a blank slate, nothing unmanagable."

"Hm. And the girl? Is she shaping up to your expectations?"

"Yes, I think she'll do. For the present, she's accepted the situation and begun adjusting to command."

"You're confident, then."

"For now."

"Then I shall proceed with her candidacy through Iemitsu, but keep things quiet on your end. Don't overwhelm her, or give her a chance to run. You've seen Ricardo's report?"

"I have. I think in the future it would be best to keep those two away from each other. He makes her unstable, which makes more work for me."

Nono hummed.

"Perhaps a more…indirect approach is warranted, given the past results. You're sure?"

"Bella is not Mancini. She is not easy to control, but she is not malicious and plotting. In fact, she's a lot less clever then she'd like to think. Leave the girl to me. If she needs looking at, I'll handle it. The last thing we need is a guardian with a grudge against the boss."

The elderly man sighed.

"That's true. Well, in that case I'll notify Colonello, have him turn over the files. I expect you'll do better with her than the others, though Iemitsu and the rest should be praised."

Reborn hummed, eyes flashing as he watched several crows fly by.

"Sawada has an eye for talent, and a good sense for the future."

"Agreed. I suspect he'll be pleased. He always did like salvaging the misfits."

"Much like yourself, wouldn't you say?"

There was a low chuckle.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. Tell me Reborn, what have you found?"

Reborn smirked, pulling his fedora lower. The call continued for quite some time, and in the end, Reborn had fine-tuned his hold on the situation. Dusting his hands after sliding the phone away, he jumped from the ledge of the roof down to the garden wall, ducking when a pair of sepia eyes glanced straight towards him. For a moment Sawada Tsunayoshi stared at the spot where, not moments before, he could've sworn he'd seen a flash of yellow. When nothing appeared laziness took him over and his head fell once more onto his fist, flipping the page of Shonen Jump and idly chewing on a potato chip. Reborn smiled.

The future looked promising.

.

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* * *

A/N

So I rewrote this...sowwy. I was rushing the last chapter and it didn't flesh things out the way I wanted to. Please click ahead for the second edited half. Hearty and review?


	8. Chapter 8: Yamamoto Takeshi

A/N

If you read this and think "I've read this before" it's because I split and edited my last chapter. This is better, promise. More details at the end.

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* * *

"Class, we have a new transfer student from America. Kan-san, if you would introduce yourself please?"

I glanced around the room, analyzing the crowd from behind my thick glasses and the bangs I'd cut l the night before. The students that had perked up at the words "transfer" and "America" quickly settled back into boredom after giving me a cursory glance up and down. I smiled.

It seemed my disguise was working.

Last night I went over the uniform and thought good and hard about what to do to make me as uninteresting as possible. Why you ask? Because it is not my job to be friends with Tsuna, it is my job to protect him. As he has evidently gained himself the reputation of a loser, I doubt very much that being his friend will make protecting him easy. Hence a disguise. Transfer students of any kind at any time are notorious for piquing interest, and that is exactly what I'd like to dissuade. I'm not here to be friends with anyone. I'm here to see if they need to be shot.

I started with the basics: look like everyone else, then take it a step further. It's the same principle that's used in any covert agency; you want to blend in and be forgettable. So all the kids are used to seeing dark hair? Good, I keep my black coloring. But shoulder length waves are fairly popular right now, and even though mine are natural, they need to be changed. Rather than leave them styled, I'll chop thick-ass, unflattering bangs and put the rest in braided tails. The humidity should add frizz so that, voila! I look like a frumpy, unattractive girl with an old-fashioned style. The sharper angles to my face look awkward and unpleasantly irregular with half my profile obscured by a low bangs and thick, heavy framed round glasses.

Pleasing ugliness. I like.

I altered the uniform as well, choosing to wear opaque black tights under a navy skirt lengthened to hit the knee exactly. The white shirt I left I left alone, but by covering it with a baggier vest and looser version of the bow, I easily achieved a conservative, sloppy look that instantly encouraged people to look elsewhere. The most remarkable thing about the outfit was how short it made my legs and how long it made my torso. I might have felt insecure if I wasn't so satisfied with the result. The outfit readily invited the assumption that I was soft spoken, nerdy, unathletic, old fashioned, and uninteresting. Seeing the class react exactly as I'd hoped was extremely pleasing, but as I scanned the crowd on my way to my seat, I paused.

There was one exception to the rule.

It seemed my target was not inclined to look away after a cursory glance, and even after I gave a stuttered introduction and stumbled into my chair diagonally behind him, Tsuna kept glancing at me. I frowned for a moment, eyes sharp behind the lenses. I only knew the boy through reports and my own extrapolations, but it seemed he was Iemtisu's son after all.

_Interesting…Well Mr. Tenth-to-be, let's see what you're made of._

_._

_._

Yamamoto Takeshi glanced sideways at the new girl. She had a massive cowlick jutting from her head drawing eyes from around the room. Snorting a little to himself, he slumped into his desk. _Guess that's American fashion, huh?_

_._

_._

* * *

My first impression of the lion cub was not good. Tsuna was not a good student, receiving a collective score of 50 on the six tests handed back today. The teachers made no attempt to hide their disappointment, and things did not get better as the day went on. He was constantly fumbling with books, pencils and squeaking "Hiiiiieeee!" whenever anyone really looked at him. Spineless, he got bullied into buying snacks for people during break, and clumsy, he bumped into a teacher and sent papers flying down the hall. He didn't appear to have any friends or any motivation to try and make friends, isolating himself from the rest of the class and cringing away from confrontation.

That was my first impression.

Carefully packing my bags well after the other students had bolted, I snapped it shut thoughtfully. This was an odd school. There was disciplinary committee one of the giggly girls had warned me about, and from what I'd seen of the head beast, there was a reason to fear him. There was not, however, a reason for Tsuna to be so off kilter. How in the world did the son of the Chief External Advisor end up as a, for lack of a better word, wuss? It was almost fascinating to watch him fail, repeatedly.

Walking across the dusty courtyard to the gate, I paused and watched as the baseball players ran laps and chanted work out calls. Several of my classmates were in this bunch, and as the sport was considered the national pastime, I suspected Tsuna sucked at this as well. One of the taller players waved at me. I stared.

That was not supposed to happen. Eyes narrowed, I followed his figure as the happy grin dropped momentarily before resurging, laughter bubbling up as his teammates slapped his back. Interesting.

Ignoring the rest of the lineup, and the stares of several girls boring into my back, I walked out the gate, adjusting my glasses on the way.

_Now, time to organize. What did we learn today? Well:_

_One: Sawada Tsunayoshi is called Dame-Tsuna by everyone, including the staff (seems slightly unprofessional)_

_Two: Sawada Tsunayoshi is a complete outcast at school (makes sense given his cowardice)_

_Three: Sawada Tsunayoshi has a crush on Sasagawa Kyoko (need more information on the girl)_

_._

_._

* * *

During the second day of my enrollment at Namimori-chu, things were starting to shift. I may not have drawn much interest from my classmates, but scum always rises to the surface and demands attention. I was now the target of those on the lowest level of the pecking order once it became clear the popular students wouldn't claim me as their own. And here is where things became far more interesting.

You might have expected someone as spineless as Tsuna to take part in the mild hazing and bullying that was occurring, but the boy just sat silently and kept away. Those big eyes often furrowed when a particularly nasty comment was made, but he kept on as he had the first day and seemed the same as ever. He wasn't helping, but he also wasn't frantically trying to claw his way up the social ladder.

_Interesting… he's not motivated, but he's also not cruel or weak willed. A truly weak minded individual would mimic and spread the torture they'd experienced, choosing to drown someone else to elevate themselves in society. So. What does that tell us?_

_One: Sawada Tsunayoshi is not a cruel boy (just a regular old coward)_

_Two: Sawada Tsunayoshi is not inclined to follow the pack (his resistance is in the form of non-action)_

_Three: Sawada Tsunayoshi is not interested in power (doesn't try to inflict revenge)_

_._

_._

On my way out of the building, a nasty spurt of giggles registered, and I glanced to the side. There, hiding rather poorly behind the last row of shoe lockers, were four girls. Of the four, only one was watching my quietly, curled hair falling stylishly about her shoulders. Crossing out the door, I couldn't help the equally nasty smile that briefly broke over my face. Dear little children, be careful of how far you go.

Once I passed the gates, I peeled off the note one of the four (Miwako-chan. One of the gigglers) had slapped on my back in the morning. Written in black marker were the words "Hit me! It's how I say hello!" Too bad for them, no one had desired to come close after my foot had landed in the toilet. One person had had their fun, but the rest of the day the smell of sewage kept any would-be "greeters" away. I would find a way to thank Kana-chan.

The baseball players were out again. I felt eyes following my back.

Was it that same boy? Curious. Unpleasantly curious.

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* * *

On the third day the bullying escalated. Someone stole my shoes, another took my notebooks, and still others muttered and insulted me, assuming I couldn't understand. This seemed rather foolish, but as I said, scum rises and demands attention, no matter how foolish it may seem. Evidently no one taught these people that insults work best when they are explicit enough that the target realizes they are the butt without being so obvious as to allow the target to fight back. Then again, there _was _a kind of pleasure in laughing at someone and knowing they were oblivious. It was far less daring and much more likely to have consequences once the heel of the joke realized what was happening, but they were young. I would teach them, in time.

That was the thing I clung to as the idiocy escalated. I am not naturally a passive target, but the promise of victory following a thorough study of my tormentors made me smile. They were a fast growing knot of children tied together in a mutual hatred of "the foreigner," though I had yet to give them real reason to hate me.

Patience, I would deliver a cause soon enough.

I had discovered a few nice idiosyncrasies to play on, and already I was sowing fear rather than unadulterated disdain. With little earbuds present and running under my shirt to the V-player 24/7, I was picking up almost 100% of the conversation around me, aided by the very low level vocabulary utilized by most of the students. It is remarkable what people will say when they think no one is listening, and I had plenty of information to go off of on_ all_ my classmates after the first two days. Evidently a good number of them believed, even if half-heartedly, in the occult, and this promised an interesting outlet for my growing irritation.

The children were paving the road to their own disaster.

You see, half the reason I was in this school was to look after Tsuna physically, and already I was doing a very nice job. If the children that normally tormented him were halved by my presence alone, that was quite an achievement. Of course Reborn and I would eventually bring that number to zero, but an immediate 50% drop wasn't bad at all, and we were only on Day 3.

The other side of my job consisted in information gathering. How many students attended Namimori altogether? Where did they live? What did their parents do? What was their relationship to Tsuna? What were they afraid of? What did they know?

Then there was the staff. How many teachers altogether? What was their background? Where did they get their degree? Where was their family? How did they relate to Tsuna? What did they fear? Could they be used? By whom? What were the their limits?

Numbers were always easy: at three classes per grade, with an average of 30 students per class, and only three years altogether, Namimori-chu served 270 individuals minimum. Add to that a few extra students who were held back, transferred in, or failed to graduate and you had yourself a school wide total of 311 children. There were 21 full time teachers, one principal and vice principal, six teachers working part time, and weekend cleaning staff made up of two older ladies. Otherwise the students were responsible for upkeep of the school.

This amounted altogether in a total of 342 people that I needed to have profiles on by the end of the week, and already I had extensive analysis of the five regular children inclined to bully me and of course, Tsuna. Using myself as bait had turned out to be an extremely efficient strategy to uncover the dynamics of this school, and by the end of the day, every single person Tsuna came in contact with was in my book. Every single one of his tormentors was listed out with references to physical, mental and emotional weak points, their friends, their basic habits, and the social security numbers and family listings I'd filched from the school.

The central three included:

1) Muto Ayase

2) Hamaki Miwako

3) Ichinori Yuri

With a side group consisting of:

4) Shinki Kaito

5) Manabe Kana

6) Kyuso Haruki

7) Sanae Tora

Reborn would be pleased.

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* * *

Day four unveiled new rigors to the hazing, though the children were still not bold enough to order me around or outright attack me. I began to focus on the popular ones in class, mainly because of a certain baseball player, Yamamoto Takeshi. Starting player for the baseball team, tall and naturally well-coordinated, he had a cheerful personality and air headed friendliness that made him fantastically popular. Girls from other classes visited ours throughout the day to fawn and flirt, and now on my fourth day I had noticed a pattern.

The girls that seemed most interested in Mr. Yamamoto were also the ones that seemed hell bent to ice my social life, non-existent as it was. Hamaki Miwako was in love with him, and so to (apparently) were Manabe Kana and Ichinori Yuri, though the latter of the three was far more private in her affections. Nevertheless, the inclination was there. Evidently I had stepped on the land mine of Yamamoto's fanbase, completely unwitting on my part and therefore ultimately the fault of the boy in question. How annoying. What was even more irritating was the fact that Mr. Perfect had such a good position in the class that to unseat him would be nigh impossible.

R.I.P Reborn's plans to make Tsuna class president.

In any case, Yamamoto was an irritation that kept garnering me unwanted attention, and in contrast to the reigning belief that the boy was an idiot, he was not in fact oblivious or unaware of how he came across. No, if one was meticulous and knew the signs, it was plain to see that the baseball idol was playing a game of smoke and mirrors. He adjusted in minute ways to guide the energy of the class and it was possible to hear him redirect conversation, indicate who should speak next, even declare when to leave the room all from facial expression and body language. The boy controlled and calmed any potential arguments without so much as a flinch and the skill with which he flipped the energy in the room was remarkable. If it was real, it would be concerning.

Why the skepticism? Because it was only the first few days of class. What did I know? I was new, and it was very possible to see things that weren't there, especially when managing hostiles and hoping for talent in my target. I'll say it now, there was none. Tsuna may have been the least remarkable person in the entire school, and in that sense I had to wonder what exactly his father had done to achieve such a feat. He should've been popular, given Iemitsu's general cool headedness and charisma, but he'd apparently inherited nothing of his father's. I might have wondered about his legitimacy if I was sent by someone else, but there it was. Four days in and Yamamoto Takeshi seemed like a far better waste of time then Tsuna.

To be far, at first I thought I might be hoping the attention dedicated to the boy was empty fervor, the typical pattern of a school idol built on good looks and athleticism. You'd be surprised how often popularity shields an individual of little substance and even less intelligence. I've learned to never assume people are as impressive as people say as very often the projection of greatness does not bear any relation to a concrete source. Unfortunately (or fortunately? Can't tell just yet) Yamamoto's fame was warranted, though for different reasons.

I will admit I was pleased my energy wasn't spent on nothing. I needed a boost after cataloging and parsing out Tsuna's learning scores for my end of the week report. It was dismal. Yamamoto made for a good mental puzzle.

He was everything his classmates said when it came to baseball, at least for a civilian, (his baseball was average for the Academy team) but he was not at all the fool they laughed with in the classroom. Following great care and scrutiny it became clear that those little changes and directions given to control the conversation were not thoughtless or by chance. He was doing it on purpose. There was a specific tell I began to see, though I could not confirm it in a mere four days: his smile became closed eyed when he was unhappy with the topic at hand.

Was there a discussion about the math test? The smile, a laugh, and suddenly the class was a joke and why bother discussing mean old Nezu? Was it his turn to clean? The smile a laugh, and suddenly people wanted to help him out, so he wouldn't be alone. Valentine's day would come around soon enough, and wasn't there _anyone _he was interested in? Same smile, same laugh, maybe a rub to the back of the head and the topic was dropped for another time. I was impressed.

Still, simply shifting conversations wasn't enough to be annoying, and it wasn't enough to make me study him carefully (though boredom would quickly do that. There's only so much one can plot while in the middle of basic English. _What _a bore). No, the thing that caught my interest was the bounce back from the smile, the barest hint of something a little darker, a little more serious, a little less cheery then what he projected. He was cultivating a false image _on purpose_. I wanted to know why. Is that surprising? Shouldn't be, given my lackluster time with Tsuna. Still, I think I can offer a better reason then boredom or personal interest.

Simply put, Yamamoto Takeshi was watching me.

Weird right?

It wasn't the kind of watching Tsuna did, the glance, assess, frown and ignore. Believe me, the lion cub had been doing plenty of that the past few days and it was enough that I wanted to put a neck brace on him to keep his head straight. No. The baseball brat was far cleverer in the way he cased the room, and every now and then his eyes would briefly settle on me or my reflection before moving on. This was coupled with the waving, watching and morning hello's I'd received when entering or exiting the school. It was odd, he seemed aware enough to avoid directly speaking to me near crowds, but he was also never totally alone when approaching me. Calculating, cautious, but of what exactly? At the moment my prerogative was to look harmless, bookish and a bit gloomy edging into haunted or spooky. I hadn't dialed up the grim and ghastly just yet, so what was the point of padding his interactions?

Very puzzling.

I would've written him off as insecure under his middle school fame and this would've been fine, except for one thing: he was looking for something. Yamamoto Takeshi did not glance and then ignore, he didn't approach or wave and then continue on, he was gradually analyzing and _learning_ about me as he went. Leaving the school each day I had noted the exact moment his eyes hit my frame, pointedly going over my figure. There was nothing gratifying about a look like that, it wasn't for the purpose of admiring, it was to deconstruct, uncover, _understand_. There is a distinct difference between _looking_ and _watching_. The person who watches canvasses the larger picture and doesn't see or follow anomalies to their root. The person who looks at people, however, does so with the intent to _see, _to discern what is really there, to analyze and _define_.

I did not want to be seen by anybody.

I did not want anyone trying to define my role in the class.

I especially did not want the person doing this to be a member of the group with power in the class.

Did I want to be seen by this boy?

Not. At. All.

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Day five rolled around, the last day in the week, and I spent my day half-heartedly avoiding various items being tossed at me while also planting and spreading a nice little rumor about my ability to see ghosts. My Halmonii said ghosts scared people and in my time working I'd heard and seen plenty of things to make up a good horror story. Combined with some research and cramming about Japanese lore and demons and I was ready to begin my counter attack. If I couldn't avoid recognition because of the baseball brat and the bullies, and if, as I suspected would be the case, Reborn wanted me to distract and normalize his incoming training, I needed to switch tracks and start making my own persona.

I decided to be an expert on the occult. It was already circulating that I'd been cast out from my last high school, from my last _home _because I'd landed a boy in the hospital after getting angry and cursing him. Conveniently, photos had appeared along with a chat room with two or three of my old "classmates." The central three were becoming antsy, Tsuna's five slightly concerned. I would wait. In the meantime, Yamamoto was still escaping explanation.

It turned out I was not his only object of interest, and my initial shock and delight quickly turned to anxiety and concern. Why? Because the other person Yamamoto watched was Tsuna. Yay.

It was subtle, but he seemed to almost constantly be aware of what the future tenth was doing, not in a way that displayed any sort of respect (which might have lessened my fears) but in a calculating weighing out of action and intent. Yamamoto looked at him the way he looked at me, though with far less curiosity. It was not like him or even to help him, but simply to determine what the clumsy cub was likely to do, what he was thinking underneath the cowardly spinelessness. Yamamoto had caught on to the slight inconsistencies in Tsuna's character, the lack of strength paired with an odd, unwavering resistance that seemed out of tune. Whether that perceptiveness was good I could not tell. For now, the baseball idol merely sat back and let things happen, but if he wasn't one of ours, was he working for someone else?

I hadn't considered the possibility until I saw his eyes flash when Tsuna mentioned something about Nana. There was something there that did not belong in the eyes of a fourteen year old.

.

.

Reborn assured me during break that there were no other undercover agents guarding Tsuna in his class. He promised, and I believed him. Some things could not be joked about in the field, and I knew the hitman would not set me up, would not prank me, not like this, not with a plant. That left two options. Either Yamamoto was someone else's spy, or he was what we call "true potential," i.e. a kid with innate abilities being honed without guidance or goals. These types were usually snapped up quickly, and if he really was a natural, Reborn would be very, very interested to know.

After all, we were here to guard Tsuna and prep him to lead. If he was really going to lead, if Reborn wasn't setting out to keep him a figurehead, he would need a full set of guardians. I managed to bump into him going into the locker rooms for gym, and a quick tap to his chest with a hand held reader gave me a 60% reliable test. After making it through the hissing swarm and the simple game of volleyball, I checked the results. Mr. Yamamoto Takeshi was reading rain flames at 100%. On this machine, that meant he was absolutely worth Reborn's time.

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* * *

Walking home in the sunny afternoon drenched and dripping water, I went over the little pad of notes I'd been keeping throughout the week. Thankfully was not made of delicate paper and had survived the bucket of cleaning water tossed on my head as I left after school. Be not concerned; immediately after there was a zap that killed the lights on the floor and a yelp from my assaulters. I'd stood and stared at the three main culprits until they moved away, no doubt feeling a sudden drop in temperature. A little lightning and strategically placed dry ice did wonders to fool the gullible.

I let them stew in their growing fear and anxiety, flipping through the bullet points calmly.

_One: Sawada Tsunayoshi is perceptive of others (he knows when he's about to face something, or someone else is)_

_Two: Sawada Tsunayoshi pays attention in class (he has not once fallen asleep, though he has skipped out halfway through)_

_Three: Sawada Tsunayoshi understands he is being bullied._

This last point was very important. We could not assert a change if the boy did not acknowledge that a problem existed, and thankfully, Tsuna knew very well what was happening all around him. Oh he was boring to watch at times, but that was offset by moments of extremely entertaining drama. It was entertaining, and he was aware everyone thought so. That strange perception made me pause.

Tsuna really did have a good sense of when someone was about to jump him with something, and usually he was very good at making himself scarce. And yet, he had never once avoided Yamamoto. In fact, Tsuna rarely paid the boy any mind given how much time and energy Yamamoto paid him. If his perception was to be trusted, it might not be necessary to treat the baseball player as a threat. Maybe. I thought it over a good long while before adding my final comment for the day, hesitating at first and then with conviction.

_Four: Yamamoto Takeshi is an intelligent liar_

I'd leave Reborn to make the next move.

_._

_._

* * *

A/N

Soooo, I did back edit, forgive me! I prostrate myself before you; please don't give up on my story! Or, you know, me. Here's what happened: I had my finals for uni. Then, and this is the more horrifying bit, my eight year long online journal got wiped. Everything for this story poof! gone. Luckily it's all in my head, and I've now transferred a good deal of stuff to paper;) Hah!

So that is why I have not posted things, it is also partially why the last chapter is now split and edited. There was important stuff I neglected to flesh out and I had to seriously think about what should go in after all my bits and pieces got deleted.

**I want to give a shout out to sndlr! Thankies and hello! **

Sent me some much needed encouragement during this strange time as well as a question I figured I should answer here: I am not planning to follow the anime timeline, and the main reason is that I want to tie in the darker stuff that happened in the manga. You'll notice if you've read the manga that I already started to tie in the Flood of Blood incident (with all that entails), and I think it'd be nice to flesh out plot points or characters that have a stronger presence in the manga. I don't think I can write a convincing or layered Iemtisu, for example, if I only go off the anime and I'd like to think Fuuta's ranking of Iemitsu and Nana as the most "loving married couple," has substance:)

I am using the anime as a reference though, so I hope that's not too disappointing! As always, please heart and review, I am working on the next chapter as you read this (if it's still 5/7/2020) and I hope to have it up 5/9/2020. Fingers crossed!

Stay healthy and sane: see you in a few!

\- DumDeeDum


	9. Chapter 9: TakeSushi

A loud slurp came from the mouth of one hitman tutor Reborn. Sitting at the modern folding table in his protégé's home, beady black eyes watched the girl bustle around the tiny kitchen, muttering to herself. Something sweet and smelling of orange was rapidly being mixed, and Reborn looked on with mild interest.

"You do know you have no oven."

A grunt was his reply.

"You cannot make madeleines without an oven."

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you," she bit back.

His hand twitched on the table where a lazy Leon was munching on a biscuit. Deciding it wasn't worth the energy to shoot her, Reborn glanced about the room. The small apartment was looking a good deal homier than the first time he'd visited, the last of the boxes unpacked and the furniture put together. It wasn't exactly welcome looking since Bella hadn't bought supplies or attempted to decorate, but the empty, untouched atmosphere had been softened by her presence.

Still…

She could do with a flower vase and a painting; the blank walls and surfaces were starting to annoy him, and he refused to debrief week after week in such a bland space.

The shriek of the electric kettle sent Bella scuttling to the counter, boiling water hissing as she filled her mug of Early Grey. Reborn couldn't help but scoff. Tea, as if it had less caffeine than coffee, and that was why she was drinking it. He kept his thoughts to himself as she slid into the seat opposite him, blowing on the steaming cup. With her glasses on her head, hair undone about her face, and cheeks pink from the heat, she looked very little like the cursed schoolgirl she was attempting to pose as during the day. Keen eyes looked him over.

"You look…pleased."

"I am."

Dark eyes narrowed.

"Why? What've you done now?"

Reborn smirked. It was such fun to play with the girl, her suspicions so easy to toy with after she discovered the bug under the kitchen floorboards. She still wasn't able to tell when he was leading her on, and until she figured it out, he was more than willing to mess with her. A flustered Bella was far more amusing then a calm and collected one. Stroking Leon's back he savored her apprehension, feeling the sudden spike of anxiety as her eyes flitted about the room, wary. She needn't have worried: he hadn't had the time to install his latest spring dummy, too busy following Tsuna around. But she didn't know that.

"It's not what I've done, it is what I'm doing," he said cryptically.

_Let's plant an idea, shall we? How long until you guess where I've been, what I've been doing? Think girl, what are we here for?_

"What? What do you mean? What are you talking about, what you're doing "right now?" Did you hide something stupid in my house again? You better leave the bathroom alone you freak, or I'll tell Tsuna why we're here! See if _that _doesn't throw a wrench in your plans!"

…_too early, huh? Her focus is still too narrow to gauge my intentions…_

Holding back a sigh and filing his observation away for later, Reborn smirked as he sipped his coffee and waved a hand, dismissive.

"Never mind. Tell me about your week. You've been busy, haven't you."

A deep sigh seemed to rise from the tips of her toes and Bella slumped forward onto the table.

"Yeah…I looked into the Yamamoto family like you asked…and I'm working on the kids in Tsuna's class. Just need to build the creepy factor for a little longer."

"Hn."

"I don't want to traumatize them forever; I don't know how much force to use on the brats."

Reborn looked over her defeated expression, gaze steady. Yes, this was the age-old issue every Vongola hitman faced: how much force was too much? And at what point should a gentle approach be abandoned? Depending on when and where you were, the answer changed, and he was curious as to what answer Bella would come up with to handle the problem of Tsuna's bullies. It was an interesting opportunity to gauge her self-control and creativity. They'd gone over the ground rules: no physical torture or lethal force against "civilians," but everything else he left open. Namimori was a testing ground, a place to grow the saplings of the next generation. He had permission to do whatever was necessary to preserve and support that growth, and that included using whoever he had to, children or not.

His voice was firm as he swirled his cup.

"Figure it out by Monday."

Bella's head lifted slightly, brows furrowing.

"Why?"

He took another sip, savoring the dark roast. Guatemalan; very nice. "Why" questions, not so much. Nevertheless, he answered her query.

"Monday is D-day; I want the field cleared."

She sighed again, fatigue hanging from her eyes. Monday. That left her the weekend to put everything in place and run her plan of attack. Not a lot of time, and was it even necessary? Was it suitable? She wasn't sure anymore. Turning her attention back to the hitman, she answered tiredly,

"Right, got it. I'll fix things up. The camera's I ordered came in, so I just have to install them. Shouldn't take long."

"Good. Report."

Bella nodded, sitting back as she fiddled with her sleeve and pulled out a few photographs of a sushi restaurant and house taken from different angles, along with several headshots.

"So, I figured the easiest way to investigate Yamamoto would be to case his house, so I went for a visit. Turns out it's the top half of a sushi restaurant…"

.

.

* * *

_~ Three days ago, after school ~_

* * *

I stared up at the wooden sign of the shop, squinting to make out the words "TakeSushi" written in calligraphy. Each of the large purple flaps of cloth tacked down across the latticed siding bore an abbreviated version of the name in white "ink," loudly announcing to any passersby that they had reached the sushi shop.

Even for someone like myself it was startlingly easy to find the place.

I was still in my long, unfortunate looking uniform, braided tails falling around my chin while the large glasses I wore glanced and caught the afternoon sun, edge pressing into and gathering sweat along the bridge of my nose. It was hot and uncomfortable in the school get up but I had sacrificed my comfort for the sake of snooping around without the annoying presence of Yamamoto Takeshi to distract me. All day long he'd been almost unbearably friendly, putting a rather irritating wrench in my plans to scare the less deserving members of my class. It was hard enough thinking of benign ways to get them to back off and leave Tsuna (and me) alone, if he kept interfering, I'd have to actually draw blood! I did not _want _to take drastic measures, but if he kept screwing up my plans, I would.

Ugh, that boy was a mystery, and today I intended to get to the bottom of it all.

TakeSushi was a fairly old-fashioned looking establishment of the Kyoto Machiya type, the dying architecture in remarkably good shape given its age, and not a single gray roof tile was missing. Clearly this shop was well loved and decently successful to pay for the upkeep. After a surreptitious glance to check that I hadn't been followed and that no one was around, I lifted my glasses up to scrutinize the building for anything out of place. The glasses helped with my far-sightedness, but more than that they preserved the peace of those around me. The clarity of my eyes came with an unfortunate and unsettling red tinge under the brown of my irises, and depending on the lighting, I'd been told the color resembled the blood of a fresh corpse.

Flattering, don't you agree?

_Jack always thought so, the fool. Ah whatever, focus!_

Without the hindrance of my thick bifocals, I picked up on the worn wood of the second story, small carvings of flowers on the old storm shutter on the right-hand window. They looked to be handmade and were obviously being preserved: compared to the other storm shutters, only that one had the shine of a waterproof veneer.

Walking to the corner, I slipped into the ally way between the restaurant and the smaller sweets shop next door. The shadow off the high roof offered a welcome relief from sun's heat and for a moment I admired the traditional roofing, tiny little koma inu decorating the edge of each roof point. The cool, damp air smelled faintly of moss, dirt and wood, turning my sweaty face sticky as I followed the wall back, one hand lightly dragging over the rough gray stone. A few feet past the end of the machiya I noticed a shift in the wall and crouched forward to look at the base, feeling for any weakness in the make. It had been cleverly masqueraded by matching the new stone almost exactly to the old, but the crumbling mortar, difference in the level of the ground, and the hairline crack moving up through the side indicated that part of the fence was built well before the rest.

I stood in front of that crack in the wall for a solid five minutes, stepping back as far as I could to gauge the size of the land included in the Yamamoto's yard. Compared to the other shops it was at least twice the size and far more sturdily built. I frowned. Namimori wasn't as pressed for space as, say, Tokyo or Hiroshima, but it was still odd to find a chunk of land stretching from one side of the block right out to the other.

Circling the house led to the dumpster of the sweets shop, a gap between that store and on the other side of the back ally a shop dedicated to kitchenware, specifically knives. The older part of the wall continued to an ornate gate with a heavy overhang and well locked door, those same koma inu in statue form guarding the back entry to the property. Tall shoots of bamboo prevented me from gaining a peek into the Yamamoto plot and resigned I made my way back to the front of the store, fixing my glasses in place.

I guess I'd have to go in after all.

.

.

* * *

"Iterashai! Sit anywhere you like little lady; I'll be with you in just a moment."

"Ah, hai."

Stepping under the cloth noren, I glanced around the room. Small and clean it was well lit and smelled faintly of tea. Taking up a seat at one of the two person tables near the window, I adjusted myself so that I was facing both the sushi bar and the door that looked like it connected to the rest of the house. On the other side of the room and up at the bar sat several older men and women chatting idly about their day and enjoying tea and fried squid. I grimaced.

_What a combination…so smelly…_

The man behind the counter washed his hands quickly after carefully laying aside the medium size fish he'd been in the middle of filleting. Stepping out onto the restaurant floor he was at my table in a few short bounds, white apron and head band almost pristine despite his work. I immediately scanned his movements, from the confident strides to calloused hands up to a broad and kind looking face and my heart jumped when I inadvertently met his gaze: intense brown eyes stared sternly down at me, only a shade darker than his son's. A tension crackled in the air for a fleeting moment before the crinkles around his eyes creased and a bright smile transformed his face.

"I haven't seen you here before, so welcome to TakeSushi! I'm Yamamoto Tsuyoshi. What can I get you today?"

I blinked rapidly, eyes flitting over the complicated mash of characters littering the paper menu in my hands. I'd picked it up to look busy, more interested in looking about the room then deciphering the coded food items I could order.

"I ah, sorry, um…"

Flustered, I tried to determine which part of the menu I should be looking at, and what would be acceptable for a middle schooler to pay for in the late afternoon. Yamamoto senior looked on with a gaze that seemed to grow heavier with every passing second and my shoulders hunched in as I tried to find words that I'd memorized in the tangle of kanji. I could feel my pulse hammering desperately in my ears, the whisper in the back of my head that if I wasn't convincing, if I couldn't get through this, I'd be caught in my own scheme. Sweat beaded on my forehead for entirely different reasons from before and after clenching the paper hard enough to warp its edges, I finally gave up and just jabbed randomly at the page.

"Th-that, if you please. And some tea. Green, o-or jasmine, please."

Tsuyoshi-san didn't move and for a moment an extremely awkward silence hung between us. I kept my eyes glued to the table, feeling red come into my cheeks the longer the silence continued. This was terrible, just terrible. I was trying to graduate from the V-player and I purposely left the thing in my bag, not even a foot away from me to practice my language skills without the use of my crutch. I hadn't thought I'd be interacting with the older Yamamoto directly and I was vastly unprepared to be reading without a prompt. This was all so stupid, so completely unnecessary! I hadn't wanted to turn it on again because the break from Verde's nasal voice was such a relief, but at this particular moment I would rather listen to him for the rest of my life then sit in my classmate's home, being stared at by his father, in complete silence because _I couldn't read the menu_. THE SHAME, UUUUUGGHHHHHHHH!

I never in my life wanted so much to poof into smoke and float away. Turn me into a cloud or a potato or something, anything that can't feel all of the everything going on inside my head! I want to disappear! Pleeeeeeaaaaaasssseeee! Let it eeennnnddd! UUUUHGHGHHHHHHHHH!

I jumped when a pair of weathered hands gently took the menu from me and broke my inner wailing. His voice was lower and less boisterous than before as he said apologetically,

"I might be overstepping my boundaries, but it seems to me like the menu isn't too straightforward to you. I'm sorry about that, I wrote it for my regulars, not hip young kids like you. I have some snacks that would be good for a hot day like today, if you're interested?"

The blush on my cheeks burned fiercer than before and I nodded my head jerkily. Oh, the shame… Did my brain _have _to turn off _right now?!_ Tsuyoshi gave me another smile, and I caught from the corner of my eye the smiles and laughter of one of the old men at the bar. I turned my gaze away and glared at the table.

_Stupid! This is why you have to study; this is why you have to try harder! What if he was an enemy, what if he was trying to trick you? What then? Actually…there's no proof that he's __**not **__trying to pull one on you right now. This is younger Yamamoto, Yama-chan's father. He could be exactly like his son…_

That thought circled in my head again and again, the brief moment where Tsuyoshi's eyes pinned me adding to the mix of nerves twisting tighter and tighter as my nails dug into my palms. All at once I didn't want to be here, I didn't want to be sitting out in the open on enemy turf trying to weasel out answers for his weird behavior. I wanted to be _home_, and a brief ache in my chest reminded me that there was no home here, not really. Not yet.

"Here we are! Ayu and kakigori, and one bottle of blueberry Ramune! Just the things to stave off the last of the summer heat."

An involuntary flinch went through me again as Tsuyoshi carefully placed a small grilled fish and a bowl of shaved ice in front of me, topped in cubes of mochi and strawberries. Wide eyed, I looked at him in astonishment. There was no way the menu specified anything like this, I knew what the word for strawberry looked like at the very least and it certainly hadn't been on there. As if to corroborate this point the elderly man at the bar, the one who'd been laughing earlier, called out jovially,

"Ya, Yoshi-kun, what are you playing at? What is this special treatment? If I knew you sold kakigori I would've ordered some myself!"

"Here, here!" added his friend, and Tsuyoshi laughed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ma, ma; if I let everyone in on this secret menu Takeshi would never forgive me, haha! Don't you worry about them, little lady, just enjoy the food. My son is very fond of the blueberry flavored soda, so I'm afraid that's all we have right now."

I shook my head rapidly, trying to process everything happening. Words spilled from my lips like marbles out of a bag.

"N-no! Please, I'm very grateful to you for doing this…I'm sorry if it was a nuisance, and I don't mind blueberry at all, it's good for your eyes you know," _what in the HELL am I saying?! _"um, and I've heard of Ayu before, it's served at festivals, right? For fireworks?"

That kind smile had returned, a sort of nostalgic look in his eyes as he popped the top of the soda bottle, a small bark of laughter chasing away the bright smile that appeared on my face in response. I took the glass bottle sheepishly, wiping the condensation on my skirt. Sipping from the fizzy bottle I shivered a little as the ice-cold liquid streamed down my throat. It was delightful. Stabbing at a strawberry, I tilted my head to listen as he answered in a knowing voice.

"Right you are miss…?"

"Kan."

"Kan-san. I usually grill Ayu for the festivals, but I thought it'd be nice to give the season one last hurrah. I thought so before, but you're not from around here, are you?"

"Er, ah…no…"

That barking laugh returned, and he continued proudly,

"Then I'm happy to be the first one to serve you Ayu! It's a family recipe, I'm quite proud of it. I'll leave you to your food now, but feel free to come up to the bar if you need anything, no need to be shy."

I could feel the blush on my cheeks again despite my heartfelt attempts to dispel it. Leaning down a little to whisper conspiratorially, he added,

"Don't let old man Fujiwara scare you, he's a harmless fellow who likes to laugh. I've known him since I was eight years old, there's nothing to worry about."

I nodded, a weird feeling in my chest. Why in the world did this man make me feel so embarrassed and at the same time so…welcome? Strange, going to all this trouble to reassure me, as if I needed it. Well, considering how I looked right now, maybe that's why he was trying so hard. Still, weren't the reassurances a bit much? Digging into the kakigori, I watched him banter back and forth with his customers, listening intently as they joked around.

"Well Yoshi-kun? Still up for a spar? I bet you 1600 yen I can still flip you on your back!"

"Ah, I'm not sure I can take that bet, Fujiwara-san, it's not fair to make a bet I know I'll win."

"Nonsense!" here the old man slapped the bar, a determined look in his eye as he added with a grin, "Don't tell me Yoshi-kun is too scared? I thought Okuni and I trained you better!"

Tsuyoshi laughed and said with practiced ease,

"Maybe another time. For now, won't you just enjoy what I've made? Takeshi will be back soon, and I'll have the evening crowd to handle."

"Oh alright, I'll let you go, this time. But one of these days we'll have to have a true spar! I know you've got room in that dojo back there, don't be so stingy!"

My ears perked up at this and carefully I kept my face turned towards my food as Fujwara continued to push Tsuyoshi and he continued to laugh him off, skirting his demands. My eyes focused on the door across from me, dark wood and white rice paper the only thing separating me from the rest of the house.

A dojo. So that was what took up the rest of the yard.

Slowly, a sinking feeling of dread started to pool in my belly with the soda and the ice. Kendo. That was what Fujiwara-san wanted to spar. Tsuyoshi-san was apparently good enough he didn't want to embarrass the old man (as evidenced by his own tactful behavior to me, a complete stranger, when I couldn't order properly), which meant he must still be skillful, i.e. he practiced. So then…did Takeshi…?

.

.

* * *

"The only people that have skill like Takeshi's _and _skill with a blade are people like us, the mafia. So, I think there's a possibility his father has…connections…the name Okuni is also associated with the sword style the Emperor knew…at least, if I remember correctly…"

There was a deep reluctance in her voice, and Reborn watched Bella's expression closely. Her gaze had shifted off to the side, refusing to meet him head on.

"You don't want him to be part of the yakuza."

She flinched and Reborn raised one eyebrow, surprised she would let him see that he was dead on. Whatever was eating at her must be more concerning then he thought. She fidgeted a little, dragging her feet around the legs of the chair before kicking them out again.

"…yeah…"

"Bella."

"Yes. Yes, I don't want him…them…to be involved with the yakuza."

"Because?"

Her gaze fell to her lap, worried expression creasing her brow. Bella's voice came out soft after a brief pause.

"Because I don't want to fight them. He's weird, Yama-chan, Takeshi I mean, but I don't think he's a problem, not really…"

"Not yet, you mean."

She winced.

"Yeah. Not yet is probably the better way to say it."

Reborn sat back in the chair, crossing his arms and mulling over Bella's words. Interesting, it was all very interesting, and very unusual, especially for her. He decided to say as much to see what would happen.

"It's not like you to get attached. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Well…"

.

.

* * *

"Thank you, Yamamoto-san, for the food. It was really delicious."

"Not at all! Please, come again! Next time I'll have you try the _real _food! Take care, Kan-san!"

"Hai!"

Bowing, I made my way out of the noren, almost running into the boy I'd been avoiding all day. Jumping backward I nearly tripped, grabbing the edge of the door to steady myself.

"S-sorry about that! Didn't see you the-oh! Kan-chan, wow, hi! I didn't expect to see you here!"

For about half a second I was frozen in shock. No. Nonononononono, I was _not _supposed to be running into and having conversations with the little Yamamoto. That was not in the cards, that was not the plan! I specifically timed everything to be well away by the time he came back! Ugh, no. I was already off balance enough because of the father, I really didn't want to deal with the son! Righting myself I immediately bowed and edged past him murmuring a quiet,

"Ah, sorry for bumping into you, I'll be on my way," before booking it down the street. Unhappily, I didn't get very far.

"Wait up! Why're you running away? Why don't you come inside, have a snack or something? My old man runs this place, he'll treat you if he knows you're my classmate, come on! You don't need to be shy!"

My shoes skidded a little as I came to a stop hearing him parrot almost the exact same words his father had said, and I turned back only to sigh. Lord this boy was persistent. I was already several shops down from the sushi place and Takeshi was right along beside me, still decked out in his baseball uniform. I could see the dust and sweat sticking to the white polyester uniform and tall red socks plastered to his legs. I couldn't help wrinkling my nose in disgust. That had to feel like the nastiest, full body, wet sock in the world. Takeshi laughed.

"Nah, it's not that bad! Although I guess I kinda stink huh?"

I blinked. _Oh. I said that out loud. _My forehead wrinkled. I wasn't _that _loud when I muttered to myself, did this kid have super hearing too? Geez! Couldn't I just get a break for once! Turning full to face him, I said firmly,

"No, you don't stink. That was rude of me; I just meant that you must be uncomfortable, that you'd like to change. I appreciate the offer, but I actually…well, I actually ate earlier."

"Huh? Really?"

"Er, yes. I think I…your father gave me one of your soda's, so I've already had something. Don't bother with me, go ahead and go home. I'm sure you'll want your space after such a long day, and there's really _no need _to concern yourself with me."

I paused. That sounded a little harsh, and I wasn't trying to get myself on the popular kid's bad side. Belatedly I bowed and tacked on,

"Thank you though, for your concern."

Standing straight I was met with the sight of the baseball star looking at me with a slightly quizzical expression.

"Um, you know you can come back, you don't have to leave just because you had something to eat earlier. And you're not bothering me, I _want _to invite you. You're new here, and you don't really know anyone, right? You seem like you're kinda having a hard time in class…and I thought it'd be nice to just, make friends I guess."

I stared. _Well. Theory confirmed, he has ABSOLUTELY BEEN WATCHING ME! He knows what's happening in class, he wants to be friends, so then…all this time…has he been trying to help me or something? _

My expression must have been one of extreme confusion and surprise because not a moment latter Takeshi had his hands out waving back and forth in front of him as if trying to soften the blow.

"Ma, ma, I don't mean to embarrass you, I just wanted to say I'd like to be friends."

"Why?" I couldn't help feeling intrigued, and a part of me knew I was leaving the realm of work into something more personal. Why did this kid have any interest in me? Why? I was purposely making myself the ugly duckling, the weirdo, the freak. Why did this kid want anything to do with me? I watched him closely, eyes narrowing as something solemn flashed over his face before disappearing. The sun glanced off my glasses as my eyes narrowed to slits.

_What…was that. What are you thinking of, baseball boy?_

"Well…you seem…interesting. And, I don't think it's right…what the other guys are doing in class. You're new, they shouldn't be pranking you the way they are. I mean, you're a girl and they shouldn't single you out just because you're new."

That mask, that façade was back. I could see something else lingering behind those words, the safe answer to the question. Disappointing. Drawing myself to my full height, I looked over the edge of my glasses to pin him with what I knew was a piercing glare.

"You're lying. I don't make friends with liars. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need saving, Yamamoto-kun. And if you wanted the pranks to end, you could probably stop them yourself by talking couldn't you? You know what I mean. But you don't, so don't try to play white knight now. Anyways, I don't need it. I have my own plans, so don't get involved, got it? I don't need the help of someone who can't honestly say what he wants."

I turned and walked away, my face cold, lips pressed into a single line. I'd said it, what I was actually thinking, no sugar coat, no pretend because it was so annoying! Seeing that face, the smile and the laugh trying to push me to play along and _I refused to do it. _I can lie to high heaven if I need to, and I will if I must, but God help me if I'll play along to someone else's lie because they're too cowardly or weak to face up to the truth. Nothing good lies down that path, the path of collusion. I know. I _know._

I was late for the bus, which was unfortunate. TakeSushi isn't that far from Namimori-chu and so it isn't that far from my apartment, but I needed food _again _and that meant a trip to the grocery store. Rocking up and down on my heels, I sighed and glanced down the street to watch the sparse traffic on either side of the four-lane street. Twenty minutes to the next bus, what a chore. Popping in my earbuds and playing the horrid recording of Verde's voice I stared up at the sky from under the lip of the metal roof and started looking for shapes in the cloud. A car zoomed by, ruffling my skirt and a group of students walked behind the bus stop on the way home from cram school. A prick of guilt stabbed at me and I ignored it. Someone had to tell the boy.

_But did it have to be you? Were you really the right person for such a message?_

I straightened my shoulders. It didn't matter. What's done was done.

_You were too harsh._

I swallowed hard trying to people watch the few pedestrians on the other side of the road.

_That wasn't your place._

The sweater vest was clinging in an extremely uncomfortable way to my stomach, but there was no way I was removing it to reveal the drenched button down underneath.

_Say sorry._

I glared. Stupid bunny shaped cloud, no way was I saying sorry! I told the truth! I shouldn't have to apologize for the truth.

_But you weren't very kind, were you?_

There was cacophony of cars honking as a biker cut across the street and I sucked in a breath. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't. I wasn't wrong. I wasn't.

_Then why are you still thinking about it?_

I ordered take out instead.

* * *

_~ The next day ~_

* * *

In the morning, plodding my way to school I tried to quell the dread creeping through my veins. No matter how right I was to say what I'd said, it would do nothing to make class less awkward. Crossing the gate to the school, I noted with relief that the most persistent of my tormentors had dropped off and were avoiding me. Switching to my indoor shoes went without issue, and it was only when I got to class that I saw why. My desk had mysteriously disappeared, and glancing at the giggling, whispering knot of kids near the cleaning closet I counted the five usual suspects. Tsuna glanced at me from his seat and for the first time I experienced the urge to slap the concerned look from his face.

If you're too weak and pathetic to look after yourself, don't bother to wasting your pity on me.

Turning on my heel I stormed out of the room only to see a very serious looking Yamamoto carrying what was undeniably _my desk _from wherever the idiots had put it. Students up and down the halls whispered and pointed, heads popping out of the doors to watch as Yamamoto deftly slid the table through the classroom door to set it in its spot. I didn't know what to do, what to say. Leaning over my desk, the baseball player seemed to gather himself and lifting his head he pinned the class with a stern look.

"Kan-san is our classmate now, she's our friend. This sort of prank is too much, it's wrong, so don't do it again. We should all get along, that way we can have the best school life, haha!"

He ended his scolding with his trademark smile and laugh, breaking the stillness in the room and flipping the air all at once to something far lighter than before. Miwako-chan ran from the room, Yuri-chan following as Yamamoto's friends circled around him, slapping him on the back and praising him for his "manliness." He did what he always did, easing into his own seat as the teacher came into the room and the group dispersed. Slowly, I took my seat. Class went on as normal with one noticeable difference.

Yamamoto Takeshi wasn't looking at me anymore.

Finally.

I think…

I didn't have any trouble for the rest of the day, and as I gathered the last of my notes on the various bullies now cowed by Yamamoto's show of strength, I couldn't help looking at Tsuna. I thought Yamamoto never did anything to step in, I assumed his cool calculation of the boy was a disdain for his troubles. I never once considered that maybe he was waiting for Tsuna to step up, for Tsuna to change things on his own rather than fidgeting and taking crap from everyone else. I don't know if I would've considered it if I hadn't momentarily seen in Tsuna what everyone else did: the infuriating propensity to pity others while being unwilling to face one's own pathetic state. Tsuna was mocked, Tsuna was used, Tsuna was left behind, but people otherwise let him be.

There was a reason he was called useless. That was all his fault.

But the lack of "pranks" and cruel physical punishments…

Did Yamamoto have anything to do with that?

.

.

* * *

"I see."

Reborn was thoughtful, black eyes glancing now and then to Bella's bowed head as he considered the boy in a new light. The possible ties to the yakuza were still there, and there was always the potential that this was a ruse, but he doubted an inexperienced hitman would be able to fool Bella, himself and the flame Tsuna had inherited. No, it was far more likely that this version of Yamamoto Takeshi was the one closest to his true self and, for better or worse, Bella had managed to uncover it.

Clearly she felt it was for the worst, and the baby hitman could see that she was still confused about what his actions meant, for Tsuna and herself, both as a professional and as a "friend." Good, she needed more of these conflicts to shake off her Academy habits and ingrained defense mechanisms.

Leaning across the table to tap her forehead with Leon, the hitman waited until she looked up, dark eyes swirling with indecision and guilt.

"You did a good job."

Her voice was weak when she responded.

"I did?"

"Yes," he replied firmly. "You did not intend it, but you managed to force Yamamoto Takeshi's true nature to surface, and you managed to ease the burden of your own and Tsuna's tormentor's by doing so. You did a good job."

She was looking at her hands again, wringing them in her lap.

"…it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I misunderstood him, like I misunderstood the whole situation. I feel like an idiot, like I don't know him or-or myself..."

Reborn nodded.

"You feel stupid and unsettled because you thought you knew everything, and you don't. That is normal for someone your age."

Bella looked up at this, a pinprick of hope in her eyes, a sense of relief already at hearing his words. Stepping onto the table, Reborn patted her head and said,

"Foolish Bella, what is our goal? To protect Tsuna. To guide him and guard him. In the end it doesn't matter how many mistakes you make as long as you learn from them and keep going, as long as you ultimately fulfill this goal. You misunderstood the situation, so what now? Are you going to run away? Or are you going to accept that you need work, that you need to train, and that knowing this weakness you are closer, not further, from being able to guard Tsuna at your best? You must make that choice. Not me."

"I…I see."

Reborn gave her one long critical stare and hopped down from the table, adjusting his jacket and tie. Making his way to the door with Bella trailing behind him, he suddenly stopped and turned back to the girl. She still looked tired and conflicted, but he could see that some of her unrest had settled. Leon morphed into a scooter and standing astride his partner he gave one last order,

"Stop thinking about it and go to bed. You've spent enough time beating yourself up over this, and it's done with. Over. If there's anything else to worry about it'll be taken care of. Don't worry anymore; you aren't dealing with this alone you brat. Go sleep."

With a wave and chirped "ciaossu!" he scootered out the door and Bella waved back, small smile on her face.

"Thanks, Reborn."

.

.

* * *

A/N

I did it! Please heart and review, let me know your thoughts;) I personally think it's really funny that Bella thought Yamamoto was so weird for trying to be a nice guy, but as always, there's more to this then what we see! I'm super pleased with how this chapter turned out, although I was looking up nonsense things in google like "cloth flap over door Japanese" to figure out what the heck they call a noren. I think everything else in this chapter is clear enough without translations, but if it feels unclear just let me know! Always love knowing what ya think;)

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Next Update: 05/23/2020 (I count this entry as reseting my updating schedule properly :p)

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Stay safe, stay sane, and wash those hands!

\- DumDeeDum


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